Solstice Reverse
by fallacies
Summary: A Fate / Stay Night x Tsukihime AU. In the city of Misaki, Japan, the 5th War for the Moon Cell would determine the fate of humanity.
1. Prologue 01: Imaginary Numbers

**SOLSTICE REVERSE**  
A Fate / Stay Night x Tsukihime Alternate Universe  
by fallacies

_This chain of scenes is collectively a prologue or pilot. The fic proper will not be initiated until other projects have progressed to a certain point._

* * *

Snippet #01: **IMAGINARY NUMBERS** / **Winter, 2007**

_What if Sakura had a different evil grandfather?_

* * *

Sitting nude at the side of her bed, Sakura parted the black, sweat-stained hair that had fallen across her eyes, and tilted her head to look upon the sleeping face of her stepbrother.

Like this, she thought, he seemed almost the innocent that he was, rather than the man he pretended to be. There was none of the foolish arrogance of his waking self - nothing of the brute that used her as a release for his pent-up frustrations. Just Shinji: the simple, insecure boy that had tried to befriend her when they were children.

Tenderly, she kissed his cheek. Even if she didn't love him, she couldn't quite bring herself to hate him.

He was, after all, instrumental to attaining her goals.

* * *

Her grandfather was in the rear drawing room of the manor when she arrived, standing in the dim red illumination of the December moon.

"I have been made to wait," he said.

"I apologize, grandfather," she replied, bowing. "I have no excuse."

The gaunt, blindfolded man cast a stony expression at her, and then nodded at the knife on the table beside him.

"The moment that I have prepared you for quickly approaches," he said. "If you are serious in your intent to see this through, I would advise that you hurry."

Nodding, she approached his side. Unsheathing the knife, she ran the edge of the blade across her left index finger, and let her blood fall to the formalcraft array carved at the center of the mahogany floor.

"_Link activate_," she said. "_Initiate registration_."

As her blood filled the thin grooves of the array, the outer circle began to glow a bright crimson. In moments, three petal-like marks appeared across the back of her hand; the Arbiter had recognized her as a Master, and had granted permission to proceed with the summoning of her Servant.

"_I beseech you in the name of our master, Schweinorg the many-faced, who holds dominion over gemstone_," she chanted. "_I beseech you by the dreams of the princess in white, who slumbers in the buried castle._"

The crimson light spread along the carved grooves to the inner circles of the array, surrounding the stone placed at the center. Even with the boost she'd received from her coupling with Shinji, Sakura could feel the prana within her draining from her at an alarming rate - but she steadied herself. The ritual had to be completed.

"_You who would by bloodshed seek the truths of this world, heed my word. I pledge to your sword my fate and destruction, and thereby call you forth from the memories of the Crimson King. Arrive within the ring of binding, that we may finalize our vows._"

From the stone at the center of the array, tendrils of light extended upwards. Sakura had imagined that the Servant would manifest whole - but instead, the light weaved itself into the exterior of a human figure: A tall, redheaded man with Asian features, clad in a red-orange rider's cassock.

When the process completed, the Servant opened his eyes.

"I am Li Shuwen, a Servant of the Assassin class," he said, sternly meeting her gaze. "I ask of you, are you my Master?"

Maintaining eye-contact, Sakura said, "My name is Tohno Sakura, and I shall be your Master in this War."

Behind her, the blindfolded old man smiled.

* * *

In the city of Misaki, the prelude to the 5th Phantasmal Summer had begun.  
The Masque of the Crimson King would be reenacted once again ...

* * *

**ASSASSIN** / **Li Shuwen** (1864–1934)  
master: Tohno Sakura  
gender: male  
alignment: lawful neutral

strength: B  
endurance: C  
agility: A  
mana: D  
luck: A

A martial artist of the modern period, renowned for originating a prominent branch of the fighting style known as Bajiquan.

skills

**Presence Concealment** (Odic Manipulation), Rank -: Dynamic alignment with the energy gradient of the environment is used to eliminate exerted presence. Optical invisibility is not attained, but the Servant is removed from the perception of most humans, and other related beings. Non-identical to the Presence Concealment ability of Hassan-i-Sabbah.

**Chinese Martial Arts**, Rank A++: A Chinese rationality. A measure of one's mastery over the combat art whose goal is to attain oneness with the World. Unlike standard skills, an A rank denotes proficiency.

**Sphere Boundary**, Rank A: Awareness of the the energy gradient within one's locale. Paired with high levels of odic control, a high rank in this skill may permit alteration of exerted energy presence to remove oneself from the perceptions of others.

noble phantasm

**No Second Strike** - Rank -, Anti-Unit: The quintessence of Li-clan Bajiquan. If the Servant is permitted to attain focus in odic control, all attacks dealt via hand-to-hand are rendered nearly lethal; on contact, odic energy is directed into an opponent to produce circulatory shock. Strictly speaking, not a true Noble Phantasm.


	2. Prologue 02: Daath

Snippet #02: **DAATH** / **Meiji 24 (1891), Winter  
**

_The 1st Phantasmal Summer was nothing that could be described as a tournament._

* * *

The primate mask that had concealed the identity of the crimson-armored samurai split and fell away, revealing the heavily-scarred face of a young woman.

"How?" she gasped, staring at the blade planted in her breastplate.

If circumstances had permitted, she might have expressed incredulity that a warrior of her stature could be slain without so much as grasping the opening movements of her opponent's attack. This was, however, no longer possible; for even as the one word parted her lips, the dismembered pieces of her body had begun to fall to the floor, unraveling into threads of light in the process.

Her blindfolded assailant - a middle aged man of average height, dressed in a simple dark-colored kimono and hakama ensemble - turned to sightlessly regard Tohsaka Eiji.

"The foreigners and their witchcraft are neutralized," he stated, "and all seven of these guardians you've summoned have been vanquished. If there is a reason I shouldn't send you on your way for desecrating this place, now would be the time to give it."

Hubris, thought the young Tohsaka heir. It had been hubris to believe that with materialized heroic spirits bound to defend the ritual, they had nothing to fear from the man that his father had called 'the Gravekeeper.' A non-magus who kept the company of the great master Schweinorg could hardly be anything but an unreasonable existence.

"If I die here," Eiji ventured, "you'll have lost a chance at purging the taint of Brunestud from the White Princess."

Seemingly mollified, the Gravekeeper sheathed his dagger and appeared to turn his gaze upwards, at the slumbering European woman chained to the ornate throne at the rear of the chamber.

"Explain yourself," he said.

"The mind of Brunestud is known to the thaumaturgical academia as the 'Moon Cell,'" replied Eiji. "It is as complete a record of the World as one might find without access to the Swirl of the Root. If a method to remove Brunestud's taint indeed exists, then it undoubtedly lies within. I know of a way to obtain this information, but my method requires access to the flesh of the White Princess."

"Why is that?" asked the Gravekeeper, slowly approaching.

"Th- the incident caused by the Einzberns twenty years ago," said Eiji, struggling to keep the apprehension from his voice as the man neared. "It connected the White Princess directly to Brunestud, and therefore the Moon Cell. The procedure that you interrupted was intended to make use of the Princess as a physical conduit at the height of the Solstice Reverse, when the spiritual proximity of the Moon reached a maximum."

"And would she come to harm?"

"No!" Eiji exclaimed. "I assure you, the House Tohsaka has no intention to call upon ourselves the wrath of Master Schweinorg!"

The Gravekeeper stopped before Eiji and lifted the front of his blindfold. Beneath, sunken, empty sockets stared into Eiji's eyes unseeingly. More than a little unnerved, the Tohsaka heir backed away.

"So what if I purge the Princess of her taint?" asked the blind man. "Do you then lose the use of this 'Moon Cell?'"

"Y- yes ..."

"If your intent is to appropriate the Princess as a permanent resource for your craft, then your life is forfeit, here and now," he said, lowering his blindfold and turning away. "If, however, you take it upon yourself to reserve for me in perpetuity a chance to remove her from the influence of the Crimson Moon, I shall deign to overlook your transgressions. Are we agreed?"

A chance? The Gravekeeper's demands were surprisingly modest, all things accounted for. It was a probably a political consideration - for even if the man could outmatch heroic spirits in single combat, he was only one person, and could ill-afford to incur the enmity of all those who would seek access to the Moon Cell. He was in essence passing to the House Tohsaka the onus of negotiating his position to the Clock Tower and Atlas.

It presented certain possibilities, the Tohsaka heir realized.

"I submit to your terms," he said.

* * *

**SABER** (1st War) / **Ii Naomasa** (1561-1602)  
master: Zakariya Eltnam Merovech  
gender: female  
alignment: chaotic good

strength: A  
endurance: A  
agility: C  
mana: C  
luck: D

One of the four most prominent generals in the service of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate. Known for her blood-red armor and her ruthless tactics, her exploits during the Sengoku era won her the epithet, "the Crimson Demon of Ii." Though her gender was known to her close comrades and superiors, she maintained the public persona of a man for tactical purposes.

skills

**Magic Resistance**, Rank D (C): Capable of resisting single-action magecraft. Though trained in defense against assorted Oriental magecraft, the Servant is a personage of the modern era, and thus encountered few skilled users of magecraft in life.

**Riding**, Rank B: Most vehicles and live mounts can be handled with significant proficiency. However, the Servant is incapable of riding Phantasmal Beasts.

**Eye of the Mind** (**False**), Rank C: An innate intuition that permits the aversion of danger. However, the effect of the skill is determined by a Luck Roll, and does not permit awareness of projectile attacks.

**Blood-Stained Virgin**, Rank B: Depending on the degree to which the Servant's armaments are coated with the blood of her opponents, her strength, agility, and endurance are improved for a maximum of one rank; but this is coupled with a comparative increase in mental pollution. While the effect is active, the Servant gains minor self-restorative capabilities similar to the vampiric Curse of Regeneration.

noble phantasms

**Vermillion Arms** / **The Devil in Red** - Rank C, Support Type  
A cursed mask and suit of armor, crafted of steel. The blood of the Servant's opponents have permeated the material, giving it a permanent tinge of crimson. Sight of the armaments inflicts an intuitive fear and related psychological effects upon those with low mental fortitude or resistance to curses. The effect is enhanced with visual distortions if the armor is exposed to blood.


	3. Prologue 03: Rin

Snippet #03: **RIN** / **December 5th, 2007**_  
_

_Is it possible to reason with monsters?_

* * *

_Solstice Reverse: A meteorological anomaly that manifested at random intervals in the region around Misaki, Japan, wherein unexplained atmospheric distortions resulted in temperatures upwards of thirty-six degrees Celsius at the height of winter. The strange phenomenon was in fact a byproduct of a periodic increase in the spiritual proximity of the Moon, focused to the city by the presence of the White Princess of the True Ancestors, who slumbered deep within the earth below._

_In 1871, the Princess had become the final vessel of the entity known as Type-Moon - an extraterrestrial intelligence that served as the primary agent to the mandates of the counter force of Luna._

_The occurrence of the Solstice Reverse enabled the undertaking of a procedure to extract from the mind of Type-Moon the knowledge of one's desire - a recurring ritual called the "Phantasmal Summer," wherein, granted lower-order access of the Moon's memories, participants could summon forth figures of legendary stature as proxies in a tournament to the death; a "War."_

_It was not by the now-lost 3rd Magic that these Heroic Spirits were materialized. Rather, their forms were comprised of etherlite weaves, fabricated via a technique supplied by the House Eltnam._

_The nature of the Servants' manifestation prevented them from expressing more than a small fraction of the strength they held in life, but as their every action was now realized through alchemical modulation, their Masters could impose a limited number of absolute overrides upon their autonomy - "Command Seals," which upon expenditure forced a Servant to comply perfectly with the intent of a verbalized command. Since the 3rd War, this feature had been a staple of the system._

* * *

Or at least, this was true as far as Tohsaka Rin could determine from the records kept by her family.

The House Tohsaka was one of the three sponsors of the War, and thus maintained highly detailed records of relevant occurrences. Of the first two Phantasmal Summers, however, archived information was irregularly scant - possibly censored for reasons unknown to Rin.

She sighed and closed thick, leatherbound tome before her, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Placing the book back into the shelf, she glared at the presently defunct air conditioner behind her father's old maplewood desk.

In the three days since she had arrived, the machine had randomly stopped functioning more than four times, and she hadn't been able to get consistently cold air out of it despite hours of messing with the controls. Airing out the room hadn't helped much with the muggy heat, and she was somewhat fearful that the humidity outdoors would fill the rare manuscripts in the study with splotches of mildew.

"Bastard priest should be back from Italy in a few days," she muttered, thinking aloud as she closed the windows. "I'll get him to install a new one when he arrives. Should be ready in time for the War."

Exiting, Rin reengaged the study's defenses as she locked the door; a glowing formalcraft flashed briefly across the wooden surface at the door's center. It was doubtful that an infiltrator would be to bypass the layered bounded field at the limits of the property, but Misaki was theoretically enemy territory, and it couldn't hurt to be cautious.

The city of Misaki was built upon a spiritual territory traditionally beyond the jurisdiction of the Magecraft Association. Since the sixteen hundreds, it had been under the administration of the House Tohno, a clan of demon hunters. Being highly capable in their chosen trade, the Tohno were quick to terminate any unauthorized supernatural activity within their domain. Needless to say, they had been entangled in the history of the Phantasmal Summers since the beginning.

Of what information Rin could gather regarding the 1st War, one clear fact emerged: It was nothing that could be described as a competition or tournament.

Seven Servants had been summoned, but rather than being set against one another as was later customary, they were imposed with the singular purpose of eliminating one man - Tohno Shiki, the 7th Generation Head of the House Tohno.

It was an execution all but in name - a death-trap designed on the certainty that no living human of the modern era could ever hope to defeat a Heroic Spirit in direct confrontation. The outcome, however, proved otherwise.

By means unrecorded (or removed from the archives?), the Tohno patriarch had effortlessly massacred the Servants, emerging from the encounter utterly unscathed. To Tohsaka Rin, who had spent ten years familiarizing herself with the theoretical capabilities of Servants, such an act was nothing short of monstrous - not because it was necessarily evil, but because she couldn't comprehend how such an unreasonable victory could've come to pass in the first place.

Perhaps the mistake had been in presuming Tohno to be human? Several of the documents in the archive _had _mentioned rumors that the family had interbred with the fiendish-kind sometime in the Edo period. If this were true, was the massacre an exercise of literally inhuman power?

'Human or not, Father was somehow on friendly enough terms with the man to make deals with him,' she thought, pausing in the hallway before the bedroom she'd shared with her sister as a child. 'If I survive the War, I'll have to look into whether or not I can overturn that arrangement of theirs.'

* * *

The Tohno clan was not a lineage of magi.

Unlike the House Tohsaka, they had no real interest in reaching the Swirl of the Root. The sole purpose of their participation in the Phantasmal Summer was to permanently end its recurrence, and if not for fear of reprisal from the Magecraft Association, they might have long ago dismantled the Grand Ritual that arbitrated the tournament's automatic features.

To preempt any hostilities in the event of their success, they had negotiated a binding contract with Atlas and the Clock Tower: Should the House Tohno manage to bring about a cessation of the Solstice Reverse in the course of a War, the Association would act in perpetuity to prevent its members from seeking retribution. In exchange, the House Tohno would unconditionally permit the use of Misaki as the stage of the War.

However, after attaining another overwhelming victory in the 2nd War, Tohno Shiki and his clan had ceased to seriously participate. In the two subsequent Wars, he'd pursued his goals through progressively weaker proxies. Of the nature of the knowledge he'd managed to extract from Moon Cell, nobody knew a thing.

'If he's so strong, why doesn't he just steamroll the competition every War?' wondered Rin, staring out at the city skyline from a window seat on the overground rail. 'It can't be because he's gotten weaker in his old age, can it?'

It was a thought arrived at largely in jest; Rin was disinclined to place much stock in it. Tohno had been alive for roughly a century and a half, and appeared no older than fifty. Based on the observations of her familiars, his physical conditioning still far exceeded that of trained athletes.

Still, it was probable a fall-off in combat capability that placed him below the strength of the average Heroic Spirit wouldn't be detectable to an amateur such as herself. Such a circumstance could've very well prevented him from participating in the War per his original modus operandi.

'It isn't a very satisfying answer, though,' she thought, hugging her overnight bag to her abdomen. 'It feels more like ...'

"He became disillusioned with the War itself?"

* * *

As Rin neared her destination, thoughts of the War were driven from her mind by the biting cold of the air.

Kugamine University Hospital was a large medical facility in the suburbs, situated at the border of the domain of Misaki. As such, during the Solstice Reverse, the local temperatures tended to vary drastically based on fluctuations in the mana flow beneath the earth. Donning the coat and scarf she'd packed in her overnight bag, Rin stepped out on to soggy layer of snow that covered the pavement.

The four minute walk from the station was uneventful and unpleasantly icy; by the time she passed into the welcoming warmth of the hospital's central heating, she was berating herself for not thinking to bring along a longer skirt.

A senior member of the nursing staff greeted her when she arrived in the long term care ward.

"Good to see you again, Miss Tohsaka," said the plump woman, smiling.

Nodding politely, Rin said, "You too, Nurse Tanaka."

"Father Kotomine isn't with you this time?"

"He's overseas visiting his daughter right now. You'll probably have a chance to see him in the next few weeks, though."

Nurse Tanaka seemed slightly crestfallen at her response, but pushed onwards out of curiosity.

"He has a daughter?"

"From before he took his vows," clarified Rin. "I believe she's a few years older than me."

The nurse 'hmmed,' and smiled a bit dreamily as she pulled out the guest sign-in clipboard for Rin. Tanaka was a nice, helpful woman, but to Rin her obsession with the bastard priest was a bit disturbing. Anyone who found Kotomine Kirei attractive obviously didn't know him well enough.

When her business at the nurse's station was done and over with, Rin picked up her overnight bag and walked the final distance to the end of the hall - the part of the journey that always seemed the longest. She didn't immediately enter when she reached the door. Instead, pressing her fore-teeth against her lower lip, she knocked.

"Come in," said a woman's voice from within.

Exhaling, Rin pushed open the door and entered. The gaunt, green-haired woman seated on the bed slowly turned her eyes from the flurry of snow beyond the window and looked at Rin. It was a dreadfully vacant gaze - a dreadfully vacant smile.

"Oh!" exclaimed the woman cheerfully. "Hello, Sakura."

Rin forced herself to smile.

"Hello, Mother."


	4. Prologue 04: Bird of Hermes

Snippet #04: **BIRD OF HERMES** / **December 6th, 2007**

_Only a human can slay a monster._

* * *

The flock of white pigeons in the parking lot were irregularly agitated. With beady golden eyes, they watched as the proud, sullen, twin-tailed girl left the lot, trodding tiredly upright toward the rail station in the warm morning sun. When she well out of sight, they took to the air - almost as one.

There was the sound of wings.

Where the birds had gathered, there now stood a man - an elderly Caucasian gentleman, dressed in a cream-white bespoke suit of elegant make. Across the back of the hand in which he gripped his silver-knobbed cane, there was a tattoo-like insignia - a blood-red cross with a single wing on its right. To the left, there was a blurry smear that might've once been a coherent shape.

"It doesn't seem as if the current Tohsaka heir is very attentive," he said, staring in the direction the girl had vanished in through black, round-framed shades. "As her senior in the ways of thaumaturgy, it would only be proper of me to provide her an education in her failings, no? What say you, Lancer?"

There wasn't any reply, but the old man chuckled heartily, as if in response to a particularly humorous joke. Turning, he proceeded to the hospital entrance with a wide, friendly grin, walking past a puddle left by the melted snow.

In the water, he made no reflection.

* * *

The nurse named Tanaka wouldn't remember it, but when the foreign gentleman lowered his shades, she was instantly captivated by the uniqueness of his golden irises. Metallic in color, they were reflective enough that they might have been glowing - like the eyes of a feline in the dark.

"Good day, Miss," he said, making eye contact. "I would be most appreciative if you could direct me to the room of Tohsaka Aoi."

"Why, of course, sir," she replied. "Her room number is six-fifty-one - the door to the right at the end of the hallway. I'll need you to sign in before I let you go on ahead, though."

The gentleman smiled.

"You have my gratitude, my good woman," he said, "but I'm sure that won't be necessary. Just who is it that you've been talking with these past minutes, by the way? I don't see anyone here aside from yourself."

Tanaka blinked, finding herself suddenly alone at the nurse's station. Standing up from her seat, she leaned out over the counter and scanned the all-too-empty corridor. It was odd; she was certain she had been speaking to a guest - but for the life of her, their features escaped her memory.

Had she nodded off at some point?

* * *

"It's much as I expected," said the man, tenderly stroking the face of the sleeping woman. "Relatively high-quality circuits, but little to no formal training in magecraft." Giving a kind, grandfatherly smile as he eyed her bosom, he continued, "Tohsaka Tokiomi was a lucky man indeed."

Near the entrance of the hospital room, dark threads faded into existence, weaving into the form of a tall, pale-haired man, clad in black. Glaring at the well-dressed man with icy heat, his crimson irises promised retribution.

"There are rules of engagement," said the newcomer, dangerously. "Basic decencies that one affords his opponents in the field of battle. You would do well to observe this."

"So says the famed Lord Impaler." Calmly, the elderly man traced the curvature of the woman's breast with a cleanly manicured finger. "Accounting for the tactics you've traditionally employed against your enemies, I do find it amusing that you would so patiently advise me in the ethics of war - but, really, you do me a disservice in your interpretation of my intent. This woman has been a casualty before the War was ever initiated."

"She is alive."

"A lifetime consigned to persistent delirium is no life at all, Lancer," said the gentleman, taking a more serious tone as he met the younger man's gaze. "The trauma she suffered in the previous iteration of the War inflicted her with a death of the mind. It pains me to see a beautiful woman in such a state."

"You seek to render a kindness to the enemy, then?" asked Lancer, creasing his brow.

The older man chuckled, cupping the woman's chin with his hand.

"Nothing so whimsical, I'm afraid," he replied. "More pragmatically, Tohsaka Aoi is a prime asset to my ambitions. It would be foolish of me to let her go to waste."

Wordlessly, Lancer clenched his jaw. Command Seals or not, he thought, Trhvmn Ortenrosse could not be permitted to live.

* * *

**LANCER** / **Vlad III of Wallachia** (1431-?)  
master: Trhvmn Ortenrosse  
gender: male  
alignment: lawful neutral (chaotic evil)

strength: C (B)  
endurance: C (A+)  
agility: B (A)  
mana: A (E)  
luck: D

The lord impaler of the Principality of Wallachia. Out of devotion and duty to his nation, he purged all who would threaten its sovereignty. However, his extreme mannerisms lent easily to the impression of a sociopath who had deviated from the mores of society; and it was for his utter ruthlessness in warfare that he came to be remembered.

On the day that Death came for him, there was no corpse to be found ...

skills

**Demonic Defender of the State**, Rank B (A): Capacity of the Servant to mark a region as his personal dominion by securing the surrounding leylines prior to an engagement, permitting reinforcement of his combat capabilities and self-restoration when fighting in defense. Kazıklı Bei is a Noble Phantasm that may be deployed only within the marked domain. Demonic Defender is an ability similar to the Caster class skill Territory Creation.

**Battle Continuation**, Rank A: Capacity to pursue combat even in the condition of potentially debilitating injury; capacity to disengage while injured and successfully escape to friendly territory for purposes of restoration. Used in conjunction with Demonic Defender of the State.

**Protection of the Faith**, Rank B (A+++): A probability-based protection derived of religious faith, which asserts itself as a distortion of reality - founded in a sense of the absoluteness of one's flesh and soul. However, a high rank in this skill is often accompanied by distortion of the personality. Though the skill classifies as a sort of divine protection, it is not in fact provided by a bond with a higher power.

**Riding**, Rank E: Common vehicles and animal mounts may be handled with above-average proficiency.

noble phantasms

**Kazıklı Bei** / **The Lord of Execution** - Rank C (A), Anti-Army  
A noble phantasm deployable only within the Servant's marked domain. Within a range of 1 kilometer, a maximum of 20 thousand pikes can gradually manifest over time, bursting from the ground to impale opponents. Manifested pikes remain as a physical barrier that eliminates free ground, and evasion thus becomes less likely with passage of time. The sight of the pikes impose a curse-like psychological effect, destabilizing an opponent's mental condition with oppressive anxiety or fear.

**The Dragon** / **Aggregate of War** - Rank B, Support  
1-time use support type Noble Phantasm. In the condition that the Servant's desire to live exceeds a certain threshold upon fatal injury, death may be 'refused.' Thereafter, the Servant permanently assumes the aspect of a Dead Apostle, obtaining the vampiric Curse of Restoration, the Mystic Eyes of Enchantment, and certain other abilities and weaknesses. However, the Servant's capacity to receive prana from his Master significantly decreases.

(Note that following activation of the above Noble Phantasm, the Servant effectively becomes a collective of the wraiths - an aggregate of the deaths he has inflicted. In this state, his capabilities are similar to that of Nero Chaos.)

* * *

**Quick Character Reference, Snippet #1-#4**

_**Three Families**_  
Tohsaka  
Tohno  
Eltnam

**_House Tohsaka, Primary Heirs_**  
1st: **Nagato** - founder  
3rd: **Eiji** ( -1935) - Head of House Tohsaka during 1st & 2nd Phantasmal Summers  
5th: **Tokiomi**( -1997)  
6th: **Rin**(1990- )

**_Current Members of the House Tohsaka_**  
**Rin**  
**Aoi**- Rin's mother

**_House Tohno, Primary Heirs_**  
5th: **Makihisa** ( -1867)  
6th: **Akiha **(1850-1882)  
7th: **Shiki**- (1849- )

**_Current Members of the House Tohno_**  
**Shiki** - 7th Generation Head of House  
**Sakura** - adopted from House Tohsaka  
**Shinji**  
**Byakuya**- Shinji's father

_**Church**_  
**Kotomine Kirei** - mediator of the 5th Phantasmal Summer. Rin's legal guardian.  
**Kotomine Karen **- Kirei's daughter. A nun.

**_Vampires_**

**Brunestud of the Crimson Moon**- Type:Moon, enforcer to the will of Luna. The dormant remains of his (her?) mind are a near-perfect record of human existence, collectively known as the Moon Cell - the core of the ritual of the Phantasmal Summer.

**Arcueid Brunestud**- White Princess of the True Ancestors. After an incident involving the now-eradicated House Einzbern in 1871, she became host of the Crimson Moon, and was subsequently sealed beneath the city of Misaki. The phenomenon of the Solstice Reverse manifested as a result.

**Trhvmn Ortenrosse** - 17th Dead Apostle Ancestor; the Lord of the White Wing. Leader of the conservative faction of the Dead Apostles; opposed by Altrouge Brunestud, the leader of the progressive faction. Ortenrosse is a participant of the 5th Phantasmal Summer.  
_**  
Known Masters & Servants**_  
**Tohno Sakura** / **Assassin** - **Li Shuwen** (1864–1934)  
**Trhvmn Ortenrosse** / **Lancer - Vlad III of Wallachia**(1431- )

_**Others**_  
**Tanaka Natsue** - Senior nurse at long-term care ward in Kugamine University Hospital. Age 43, single.  
**Zakariya Eltnam Merovech** - Master of Saber in the 1st War.


	5. Prologue 05: Kaleidoscope's End

Snippet #05: **KALEIDOSCOPE'S END** / **1871**

_But why did he become so strong?_

* * *

It was not blindness that awaited him when she'd torn his eyes from their sockets. As if to represent the world in the character of ukiyo-e, the outlines of objects remained within the pitch dark, shaded with fine, ever-changing cracks. Their color was as the afterglow of an extinguished flame, etched behind closed eyelids.

Ignoring the pain and the blood-tears that streaked his face, he made to cut at the woman's throat - quickly enough that a Dead Apostle would've been hard-put to evade. The edge of the blade moved through empty air.

"Interesting," said the woman, now crouched halfway across the ritual circle with her legs spread in a lewd position, unmindful of her nakedness. "I had assumed that like the Rainbow Eyes of my original vessel, your ability operated merely by the odic pathways of the oculi - but it seems to be more deeply rooted."

Of the things within the cavern - the stalactites overhead; the circle of symbols that covered the flat, carved surface of the ground; the dismembered corpses of the foreigners - the outline of the woman's form alone contained not a single crack. If they existed, Shiki couldn't perceive them; they were beyond his understanding. If he hadn't any prior knowledge, this would've been evidence enough that the entity now inhabiting the body was not Arcueid. The flaws that had existed within her had been corrected.

"Leave her," he said evenly.

The woman laughed.

"You really don't understand, do you, boy?" she said in a sultry, teasing tone. "You believe that I'm merely possessing your dear little Arcueid like some lowly wraith, but that isn't the case at all. She was always my creature - a terminal of mine, crafted in the image of my flesh. You can no more remove me from her than you can sever yourself from Alaya."

In a step, Shiki crossed the distance, thrusting his knife at her. Rather than dodging again, however, she parried the strike with a clawed hand; and with her other arm, directed a whirlwind of energy at him. Forced to drop the offensive, Shiki attempted hastily to sidestep the attack - but felt its pressure crack several of his ribs.

"I can damn well try," he said through grit teeth, clutching his chest. "You've never been able take control of her until now."

"For that, you have these silly Einzberns to thank," said the woman, gesturing at the corpses deposited about the boundaries of the ritual circle. "They managed to significantly increase Arcueid's synchronicity with my existence, thinking to boost the potency of her Marble Phantasm to the level where they might artificially incarnate long-deceased humans. Fortunately for me, the process is quite irreversible."

She padded closer to Shiki, touching his chin with a sharp fingernail.

"But don't worry." The woman's expression suddenly lost its predatory tinge, and she smiled at him more innocently. In a lighter, more girlish voice, she said, "I haven't forgotten the times we spent together just because I'm now one with the Crimson Moon, Shiki. Give yourself to me, and I'll always be at your side."

"I don't think so," said a male voice.

A beam of kaleidoscopic light - multicolored even to Shiki's vision - blasted from the far end of the chamber. The woman was unscathed, however, having moved out of the way just in time.

"Zelretch," she said, unamused. "It seems that setting the taint of my blood against you wasn't enough."

The source of the beam - a club-like sword that looked to be carved from a single jewel - was held in the unsteady hand of an ancient man, covered in wounds. Breathing hard, he glared at the woman.

"Two can play at that," he said.

With more force than Shiki thought he could muster, Zelretch gripped the jeweled sword before him - and the lines within it multiplied rapidly. Ten-fold; hundred-fold; thousand-fold - and then, right as the mineral began to shatter, none at all.

Polished marble flooring raced outwards from beneath the old man's feet, replacing the carved granite ground of the cavern; and overhead, elegant arches extended upwards, forming a ceiling. Shiki recognized this place: It was -

"The Millennium Castle!?" exclaimed the woman, attempting to dodge the chains that were now continuously manifesting about her. "But I can't sense my essence within it ..."

With each step, however, her movement slowed - as if the environment itself were sapping her strength. Inevitably, the chains encircled her, suspending her in the air as she struggled with futility.

"How are you doing this, Magus!?" she shouted, enraged. "You are no Brunestud! You are no terminal of mine!"

Fallen to one knee amidst the shards of his shattered sword, the old man began to laugh.

"I have turned what is yours against you," he said. "Or rather, I am sealing you by the will of Arcueid herself. Ten thousand are the worlds represented in this space - realities in which Arcueid Brunestud emulated your Reality Marble to the purpose of preventing herself from becoming a monster. This castle is a crystallization of her self-restraint."

"I ... I shall ..." The woman grunted, as if suffering to fight overwhelming fatigue.

"You made a mistake in investing yourself so completely within Arcueid's flesh, Crimson Moon," said Zelretch. "Now sleep. Sleep until the world goes insane ..."

* * *

Where the whiteness had spread about the old man's flesh, his body had begun to crumble to ashes. Already, half of his torso was no longer intact.

"It seems ... that this node is ... about to expire," he said softly, with some difficulty. "I'll most likely be locked from this reality ... for some years to come ... Do you understand what I said?"

Wordlessly, Shiki nodded.

"I ... apologize. It should've been ... my burden to bear," said Zelretch. The last words were barely a whisper, no longer supported by breath from the lungs:

It wasn't your fault.

The ashen white spread to the face, and the ancient man's jaw went slack before crumbling to powder along with the rest of his skull. Soon, there was nothing left besides dust and the torn rags of the man's clothing.

"No, old man," said Shiki, emotionlessly. "You're wrong about that. It was entirely my fault."

He walked up the stairs to throne where Arcueid's body was bound.

"This happened because I wasn't strong enough."


	6. Prologue 06: Stagecrafter

Snippet #06: **STAGECRAFTER** / **Early Winter, 2007**

_Is there worth in falsehood?_

* * *

Cornelius Alba had read once that heat of spices came in fact from the activation of the areas of the cerebrum dedicated to the sensation of pain. Voluntary and regular intake of such inherently evil foodstuffs as mapo tofu was thus in some sense equivalent to self-flagellation - or more plainly stated, a method of deriving masochistic pleasure. Cornelius very much doubted that he himself classified as a masochist, but occasionally he wondered if it would be at all enlightening of his own character to look into the neural correlates of his addiction to bitter chocolates.

Unwrapping the golden foil about a Ghirardelli confectionery, he bit into the nearly-black surface, chewing slowly as he watched as the strands of light weave together above the formalcraft circle.

The Servant-summoning procedure of the Phantasmal Summer was a rather interesting piece of spellwork. Unlike typical thaumaturgy of the school of spiritual evocation, bottlenecking the rate of mana flow into the ring of binding did not result in spell failure. Instead, it directly modified the speed at which the Servant's corpus was materialized - permitting the sort of slow-motion demonstration that he was now observing.

Cloth; leather; metal; flesh - the end-product was irrelevant. If it was a feature of the Servant's body or armaments, it was uniformly fabricated through a weaving process not dissimilar to that employed by the mundanes in automated textile production.

Here, the material used was a mono-filament wire formed of the Fifth Imaginary Element, which could be made to take on a variety of different properties at certain applications of odic energy and elemental exposure - but to correctly format each segment of a wire some ten thousand kilometers long was monumentally difficult, and only moreso if the intent was to coordinate the assembly of a functional human simulacra. It was for this reason that the creators of the spell had been arrogant enough to leave flaws as easily-correctable as the mana bottleneck issue, essentially permitting the observation of their technique; simply, they didn't care. Even if one were to glimpse the sleight of hand beneath the facade, barring intense familiarity with the alchemical principles involved, replication was impossible.

'Classically Oriental dishonesty,' thought Cornelius, working through the remainder of his chocolate with a smile. 'It's amazing that the Eltnams haven't been called out on it in all these years. And somehow, the third-rates just buy into it like children after jolly old Saint Nick.'

In truth, no 'Heroic Spirit' could literally be summoned within the ring of binding; the Phantasmal Summer was nothing so fancy. Through the arbitration system of the War - the Grand Ritual that the Eltnams had built in the city's bowels - data pertaining to a given legendary personage would be gathered via lower-order access to the Moon Cell. Per record, a faithful artificial likeness would be constructed, and thereon installed with an emulation of personality. A Servant was, in short, literally no more than a spool of wire animated through alchemical transaction; a marionette.

Who better to wield such a weapon than a puppeteer?

Said the figure in the plague mask who now stood completed at the center of the ring: "I shall be the one to serve as the Rider of this War. I ask of you: Are you my Master?"

The empty golden wrapping of Cornelius' chocolate bar burst into cyan flames in his open palm.

"Yes, indeed," he said, giving a toothy grin.

* * *

It was early in the month, but already the storekeepers of the shopping arcade were putting up Christmas decorations, complete with unrealistic cotton snow and holiday-themed store jingles.

Most of them knew, however, that there probably wouldn't be a White Christmas this year; for the past three weeks, temperatures hadn't fallen beneath twenty-eight degrees. Nevertheless, the men and women busied themselves with preparations. It was for the kiddies and the young people, they reasoned. Wouldn't do to let customers down just because the weather was being disagreeable.

Before the entrance display at a toy store, a small boy tugged at his mother's skirt and pointed at a television that sat between the cute-looking plush dolls of a beaked character and a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl. On screen, a trailer was being played for the joint European-Japanese animation from which the the two had originated: Pucci et Jeanne, which fictionalized the adventures of Jeanne d'Arc and her companion angel.

"Can I have a Ponchi, Mama?" he asked.

"It's pronounced 'Pu-chi,' dear," said his mother, "and maybe if you're good, Santa will bring you one for Christmas."

Seeing the dejected expression on the child's face, a staff member that had been looking on picked up a plastic box from behind the cash register and walked over.

"Um, I don't mean to disturb you," she said, holding the box before her to show the Pucci plush within, "but we're actually giving these away right now. It's part of a promotion we're doing, since the original creator of Pucci et Jeanne is holding an event at the Misaki Expo the week before Christmas. Five of these giveaway boxes contain a golden VIP ticket to go meet Mister Alba in person, for free."

The boy gaped in awe as the young, bespectacled woman handed him box.

"Mister Alba is coming to Japan?" he asked loudly.

"Yep," replied the young woman. "And you might just be one of the five kids lucky enough to go see him!"

The mother nodded thankfully at the store clerk, and put her hand on her son's shoulder.

"What do you say to the nice lady, Kenta?" she asked.

"Thank you, big sister!" shouted the boy, ecstatic. "I think you're very pretty, just like Joan!"

The young woman smiled back at him, brushing her long, blond bangs from the side of her face.

"I get that a lot."

* * *

**RIDER** / "**The Professor**"  
master: Cornelius Alba  
gender: ?  
alignment: lawful evil

strength: E  
endurance: E  
agility: E  
mana: B  
luck: E

?

skills

**Magecraft**, Rank B: Proficiency with modern magecraft, as appropriate of one assigned a Sealing Designation of 'Philosopher'; special proficiency in the thaumaturgical animation of marionettes at significant range.

**Territory Creation**, Rank B: Capacity to establish an 'Atelier' - a concealed, bounded territory that serves the Servant's needs as a magus.

**Item Construction**, Rank C: Capacity to construct, repair, or modify thaumaturgical marionettes of functional equivalence to Noble Phantasms of Rank C or below.

**Puppetry**, Rank A: Mastery over conventional and non-conventional puppetry. At this level, the Servant possesses such skill that in movement alone, his marionettes might be indistinguishable from living creatures. With thaumaturgical support, the Servant is capable of effectively inhabiting or 'riding' his creations.

**Riding**, Rank B: Most vehicles and live mounts can be handled with significant proficiency; special proficiency in the use of mechanical mounts or marionettes. However, the Servant is incapable of riding Phantasmal Beasts.

noble phantasms

?


	7. Prologue 07: Clockwork

Snippet #07: **CLOCKWORK** / **December 6th, 2007**

* * *

The clocks were running on time.

Before Tohsaka Rin, the figure that had manifested was short of stature and, most notably, female. As if the Moon Cell was of a mind to further rub salt to Rin's insecurities, the Servant's crimson dress looked to have been cut with an intent to accentuate the useless lumps of meat that sat upon her chest.

Bright green eyes opened, and the Servant smiled.

"I have come before you as the Saber of this War," she declared. "Will you accept the honor of serving as my Master?"

Temporarily putting her doubts out of mind, Rin stated in as firm a voice as possible, "My name is Tohsaka Rin, and I entrust myself to your care."

At her word, the glow of the formalcraft circle inscribed upon the floor flared brightly before dying down. Prana-sharing was initiated, and Rin felt a tingle in her right hand as her Command Seal changed in hue, shifting from brown to blood red.

"In return, I shall deign to recognize you as my equal," said Saber, beaming brightly. "As a show of goodwill, I pledge hereby to commit the fullness of my unparalleled intellect toward attaining victory. Your every expectation shall be exceeded beyond imagining!"

While the harmlessly bombastic bluster wasn't grating in particular, going on the Servant's mannerisms alone, Rin privately imagined that she hadn't had many friends in life.

Aloud, she said, "I've actually drawn up a basic outline of how we'll be going about the War, but before I finalize them, I'll need to know your true identity, as well as the features of any notable abilities or Noble Phantasms you possess."

Momentarily, the Servant's expression dropped - almost too quickly for Rin to catch.

"Non-non," Saber replied, shaking her finger with a smile. "It is a worthy endeavor that you seek to plot our course, Praetor, but knowledge of the name of my birth would hardly be of strategic value to your efforts. You may rest assured that the Arbiter of the Phantasmal Summer qualifies only the greatest of warriors to be summoned in the capacity of the class Saber. Suffice to say, my genius in the martial disciplines permits that I be uncontested in melee combat."

Refusal to name herself? Saber's behavior was at once self-effacing and highly arrogant - a very suspicious mixture. While the small Servant didn't look to be the treacherous sort, Rin felt it would nevertheless be prudent to look discreetly into her identity. Applying the Master's Perspective when the girl engaged a Noble Phantasm would probably prove enlightening.

"Alright," she said. "We'll do it your way."

* * *

Outside, a plastic Jeanne figurine leapt to the ground from a windowsill and walked mechanically toward the edge of the garden.

The layered bounded field about the Tohsaka vacation home had been erected nearly a century ago, purposed specifically to warding the property from intrusion by objects and creatures that bore a prana load. Its creators would have never guessed that a purely animate automaton entirely untouched by thaumaturgy might one day serve as an infiltrator ...

* * *

On a shopping street in downtown Misaki, a young woman in a sun-dress the color of hyacinths peered at a super-deformed Jeanne plush that sat in the window display of a bookstore. With a somber, confused expression, she tilted her head slightly, causing her hair to fall before one of her eyes.

"Is there something wrong, Ai?"

The girl turned to the source of the voice - an effeminate albino child that looked to be on the cusp of puberty, seated in a wheelchair a short distance behind her.

"No, Master," she replied. "I must have been imagining things."

"Be sure to maintain an awareness of our surroundings," the child reprimanded lightly. "Also, you should remember to refer to me either as 'brother' or 'sister' in public. I don't sense any familiars about at the moment, but our opponents will undoubtedly be seeking us. It is of utmost importance that we maintain low profile for as long as possible."

"I understand, sister," said the girl, nodding.

Returning to the rear of the wheelchair, the girl began to push it along again, and the pair resumed their slow progress down the street. When they had gone, an infrared camera installed behind the eye of the plushie rotated its lens, unnoticed.

* * *

In a derelict confectionery factory once operated by the Meiji Dairies Corporation, Cornelius Alba stood laughing in a large chamber lined floor to ceiling with aging televisions. On the screens, live video feeds of locations all over the city were displayed.

"Did you see that, Rider!?" he exclaimed. "_The _Fulcanelli, here in Misaki to participate in the War! The harvest this year shall be utterly _exquisite_!"

Beside him, the Servant of the Chariot materialized, clad still in the garb of a plague doctor.

"I know not the significance of this person, Master," it said in a voice of indeterminate gender, "but it would seem that you are disproportionately concerned over the success of your project. Should you not invest yourself equally in pursuing the Fruit of Knowledge?"

"Doesn't interest me in the least," he said dismissively, waving his hand. "The promise of the Fruit is a prime piece of bait, but it really isn't much more than that. Any knowledge it could possibly offer, I can probably obtain through my own efforts. Seriously going after it as a primary objective is a waste of a golden opportunity."

"Opportunity?"

"The Phantasmal Summer is one of the few occasions where the Association sanctions open aggression against members of the nobility without reprisal. In other words, it would be perfectly legal for me to go about harvesting the crests of any major lineage gullible enough to send their heir. You want the Fruit? You can have it. I'll be going after a far more practical prize."

Appearing to consider his words, Rider turned to face the exit.

"I thank you for your generosity, Master," it said. "I take my leave now to complete our preparations."

With that, the Servant's body unraveled, and Cornelius was left to the company of his televisions.

'A true genius at his chosen craft,' he thought, 'but somewhat lacking in social intelligence.' Popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth, his smile grew malevolent. 'As if I would give up access to the Moon Cell to a mere marionette.'

* * *

**SABER** / **Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus** (AD 37–68)  
master: Tohsaka Rin  
gender: female  
alignment: chaotic good

strength: A  
endurance: B  
agility: B  
mana: B  
luck: E

The 5th Imperator of the Roman Empire; the last of the Julio-Claudian dynasty; the woman who came to be vilified as the Whore of Babylon and the 666th Beast. Beneath the fearsome reputation, however, might there be the soul of an innocent ... ?

skills

**Magic Resistance**, Rank C: Capacity to cancel spells of two lines of chant or less; capacity to generally resist magecraft below the level of high thaumaturgy. The Servant was not possessed of significant magic resistance in life, and her rank in this skill was awarded to her by the Arbiter of the Phantasmal Summer upon her summoning as the Servant of the Sword.

**Imperial Privilege**, Rank EX: Owing to the irregular strength of the Servant's conviction in her agency as Imperator, at high prana expenditure (up to 40% of the Servant's prana stores), she is capable of emulating skills outside of her possession up to a proficiency of Rank B for a very limited duration. May be utilized at no additional cost if activated in tandem with Aestus Domus Aurea, boosting emulated proficiency to a maximum of A+. Similar to Protection of the Faith, a high rank in this skill is associated with the distortion of the personality. (In general, the Servant prefers to emulate Riding, Charisma, and Military Tactics.)

**Headache Sufferer**, Rank B: A divine curse invoked upon the Servant by the Eumenides on her deceased mother's behalf, which inflicts upon her chronic headaches of such intensity that skills associated with the mental faculties (such as Eye for Art) are expressed at reduced proficiency.

**Eye for Art**, Rank D (B): Owing to the Servant's abundant experience as a patron, collector, and creator of the arts, she is capable of discerning the names and properties of Noble Phantasms that bear worth as aesthetic masterworks; however, this ability is limited only to the identification of objects crafted prior to the Servant's era of origination. Due to the activation of the skill Headache Sufferer, Eye for Art functions at reduced proficiency; identification of a Noble Phantasm requires a successful Luck Roll, except in the circumstance that the Aestus Domus Aurea is manifested.

noble phantasms

**Aestus Estus** / **The Primordial Flame** - Rank - (B), Anti-Unit  
A crooked, scarlet longsword crafted by the Servant's own hand, bearing the inscription 'regnum caelorum et gehenna.' By the Servant's limited expertise in the high thaumaturgy of the late Age of Divinities, the blade has been imbued with aspect of sunfire, which may be activated on application of prana. Careful modulation of temperature permits the emission of a wide variety of musical noises when the edge cuts through the air. Though, strictly speaking, the Aestus Estus is a normal thaumaturgical instrument, in its capacity as a bladed weapon, it is equivalent to a Rank B Noble Phantasm

**Aestus Domus Aurea** / **The Lair of the 666th Beast** - Rank EX, Support Type  
Via high thaumaturgy of the late Age of Divinities, a domed theater constructed by the Servant in life is carefully replicated as an inescapable bounded territory, similar in nature to a Reality Marble. Within the artificial domain, the skill of Imperial Privilege may be executed once at no additional cost, permitting the emulation of skills outside of the Servant's possession up to a proficiency of A+. However, the activation of this Noble Phantasm consumes roughly 80% of the Servant's total prana stores. Also referred to as "The Territory of Absolute Imperial Privilege."

* * *

**ARCHER** / **Aias of the Hyacinth**  
master: Fulcanelli  
gender: female  
alignment: chaotic neutral

strength: A+  
endurance: D  
agility: B  
mana: C  
luck: E

Shield-maiden to Agamemnon; princess of Salamis. Though of average stature and a shy disposition, her immense physical strength and keen combat intuition placed her as a warrior second only to Achilles amongst the Achaeans that fought in the Trojan War.

In the final stages of the war, however, Aias' half-brother, Teucer - with whom she shared a very close bond - came to be gravely injured, and he was thereafter retired from the field. In the knowledge that the armor of the fallen Achilles had been imbued with restorative properties that might save him, Aias embarked upon a mission to recover the item from the Trojans - but on successful recapture, the Achaean leadership voted to award the armor to her partner Odysseus. At a loss, she returned to visit her brother in the camp of the healers, but found there that her actions had actually been in vain from the start; Teucer's condition had worsened as she departed for Troy, and he had passed on shortly thereafter. Overwhelmed by sorrow, Aias left the camp, telling the healers only that she desired to a brief respite to purify the sword she had obtained from the Trojan prince Hector earlier in the war. Once alone in the wilderness, she pierced her throat with the blade, thinking to join Teucer in death ...

skills

**Independent Action**, Rank A: Capacity to survive for up to seven days without the support of a Master. However, an ample supply of pranic energy is required to activate Noble Phantasms of significant cost.

**Magic Resistance**, Rank C: Capacity to cancel spells of two lines of chant or less; capacity to generally resist magecraft below the level of high thaumaturgy.

**Eye of the Mind**(False), Rank A: An innate intuition that permits the detection and aversion of potential dangers, borne of a lifetime of combat experience. At this rank, penalties incurred against the effectiveness of the skill as a result of visual obstructions may be somewhat negated on a successful Luck Roll.

**Bravery**, Rank B: Capacity to negate certain forms of mental interference; ineffective against fascination and confusion.

noble phantasms

**Logche Petra** / **Titan's Dagger** - Rank C, Support Type  
A technique of lower-order divine thaumaturgy, imparted to the Servant by the centaur Kheiron. At the utterance of a single divine word, the Servant is capable of forming a composite lance from any stone-based materials available within her environment. Upon completion, the weapon classifies as a Rank C Noble Phantasm. This technique may be performed repeatedly at no prana cost. The lances created through this technique are employed by the Servant as her standard offensive armaments.

**Rho Aias** / **The Seven Rings that Cover the Fiery Heavens** - Rank A, Support Type  
A conceptual weapon of absolute defense, which takes the form of a seven-layered bounded field in the shape of an iridescent flower. On deployment, it requires a continuous supply of prana; and if the individual layers are overwhelmed, the user experiences sympathetic damage. Though the Noble Phantasm was intended as a shield, the Servant's immense strength permits her to apply it to a hidden, secondary purpose, temporarily compromising its defensive capabilities: By physically pulling back at the center of the field matrix, stone lances generated via Logche Petra may be 'notched' and ejected as Anti-Fortress projectiles with the Noble Phantasm's reassertion of form. The massive boost in velocity increases the damage dealt by the lances by one rank, but they are annihilated on impact.

* * *

**Known Masters & Servants, Snippet #7**

Tohno Sakura / **ASSASSIN** - Li Shuwen  
Trhvmn Ortenrosse / **LANCER** - Vlad III of Wallachia  
Tohsaka Rin / **SABER** - Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus  
Fulcanelli / **ARCHER** - Aias of the Hyacinth  
Cornelius Alba / **RIDER** - "the Professor"


	8. Prologue 08: La Pucelle

Snippet #8: **LA PUCELLE** / **6 Months Ago**

_But which is the mask that the maiden has donned?_

* * *

There are facades - the masks by which individuals interact with society.

A high school boy - apparently middling in all respects - may be known to his peers and instructors as a considerate young man, willing to render aid to anyone in need. For his unremarkable athletic abilities, the members of his Archery Club don't hold him to any particular expectations in performance - and were he to put forth a good effort and attain a rank of medium-high in the nationals, he'd likely be met with congratulations and good-natured encouragement, as is proper. For an average individual, after all, such a thing is an achievement worthy of praise.

But the boy's casual acquaintances might have some difficulty parsing his routine of waking at four every morning to undertake a ten-kilometer run - nearly at the pace of a professional athlete. If they were further aware that his ability with the bow far exceeds that which he demonstrates at practice, they would be perplexed - perhaps disturbed.

'Why this dishonesty?' they might ask, vaguely betrayed. 'Aren't we friends?'

And even if he were to explain to them his every action or motive, they wouldn't comprehend. The fact that his morning jogs terminate at a run-down apartment complex in the slums would merely invite suspicion - and moreso if anyone were to witness the skill with which he conducts maintenance upon the numerous firearms kept there, securely under lock in the basement. The persona of the innocuous student would by this point appear to be rather inauthentic - a fabrication possibly put into place to conceal a dangerous criminal. In Japan, the possession of arms is taken quite seriously.

What really lies beneath the mask? A monster? A social deviant? A terrorist? The empty boy who answers to the name of 'Emiya Shirou' has long since ceased to care. Before him, there is only the journey and the destination, and all of the preparations he has yet to complete.

For now, he can afford to stumble, but if he misses the call when the time comes, there will be no making it good again - not ever.

* * *

His irises - normally a dull, brown color - presently glowed with faint crimson light.

On the bare brick wall in front of him, there was a ring of symbols, written in prana; the last of thirteen formalcraft circles randomly projected into existence by the anchors of the bounded field. Left intact, it would continuously spawn wraiths at irregular intervals.

Raising his gun, he pulled the trigger three times in quick succession.

The weapon he held was an Umarex air-gun - a modified SA177. A much larger clip of steel ball bearings than typical occupied the internals of the gun grip, but at the expense of the carbon dioxide reservoir that would normally permit the expulsion of projectiles. In the hands of a mundane, the gun wouldn't be able to shoot a thing; but a magus might notice that the trigger was cast of Azoth, a prana-conducive metal. With sufficient skill in the manipulation of raw odic energy, the chamber could be flooded with a well-timed kinetic burst on trigger-pull - 'manually' ejecting a round of fire with a coating of prana.

The slight physical damage dealt by the BBs to the wall was irrelevant, though. To his target, it was the coating that mattered. A formalcraft circle retained stability only if the thaumaturgical system that empowered it could recognize a pattern in the energy aligned. If coherence were disturbed in any significant manner - as by the prana he'd invested in the three BBs - the array would lose effect and quickly undergo degradation, much like a low-level wraith.

A prana formation that didn't produce a spell was, after all, merely prana.

Satisfied with his work, he turned away, making to holster his weapon. As he was about to cut off the feed of prana to his eyes, peripheral vision caught the movement of something orange from behind him.

He wasn't quick enough to respond. A lazily tossed ping-pong ball inscribed with a triangle of runes collided with his shirt, and the circuits in his right arm and shoulder were suddenly inflicted with an immense, burning pain. Collapsing to his knees as the ball bounced harmlessly away, he grimaced and clutched his shoulder. The slow, repetitive tapping of a metallic crutch-cane approached, stopping beside him.

"If that were a bullet, you would be dead. Your situational awareness still needs work."

Shirou looked upwards, into the sad, lightless eyes of the middle-aged man who stood before him.

"How am I doing for time?" asked the boy.

"Forty-two minutes for sixty-five wraiths and thirteen circles," said Emiya Kiritsugu, pulling a fresh cigarette from the pocket of his overcoat. "Not too bad, but you should really try to keep it under half an hour. I'll be increasing the number of circles by one starting tomorrow."

Shirou thinned his lips and nodded. There was less than half a year left, and he would have to make the best of his time.

"It's nearly five thirty," said the older man. "Get yourself cleaned up. We should start heading back soon."

* * *

To Tohno Sakura, there was no inherent falsehood to any facade; any sort of _tatamae_. A persona and the motives behinds its fabrication were a single, intertwined existence - a raw, authentic expression of some desire, pressed forth to provoke a particular response from the members of society.

Truly, there wasn't a face in the world that didn't qualify as a mask of some sort.

"Don't give me that, you little bitch," said the leader of three older girls, holding Sakura against the wall by her uniform collar and fixing her with a glare. "I saw you and Oosawa-sensei coming out of the counseling room together yesterday afternoon. Explain yourself, or I promise you'll regret it."

It was tough front presented out of obvious insecurity, judged Sakura. The second-year was afraid of losing her man to the younger model, but lacked the intelligence to notice his blatant promiscuity. Honestly, it was somewhat amusing; the girl couldn't even bring herself to bully without a backup.

Aloud, she stuttered fearfully, "I- I wasn't trying anything ... Honest! I have a class with him, and I was just ... just asking him about an assignment!"

Technically, it was true, but Sakura had done a lot more with Oosawa than merely speak. At the least, she'd ensured a curve on her grades for the next few units, freeing up potential study time for other, extracurricular purposes. It wasn't in her plans to come clean to the second-year, though.

"One more chance," said the second-year, pulling sharply at Sakura's hair.

This level of pain wasn't anything special, but Sakura willed the wetness to gather within her eyes. It wouldn't be long now. He was approaching.

"I ... I really didn't," she sobbed. "Please ... please, let me go ... it hurts ..."

"Let up, Sanae," said the second girl, sounding a bit worried. "I think she really means it."

"There's somebody coming," added the third, nervously. "We should-"

"Hey!" called a boy's voice, angrily. "Leave her alone!"

The leader of the three girls let go of Sakura's hair, glaring at her one more time before rushing after her friends down the corridor. The caller - a red haired boy - ran up.

"Are you alright, Sakura?"

Rubbing the tears from her eyes, she nodded.

"I'll be fine, Sempai."

Emiya Shirou. Shinji's best friend, and the one person aside from her grandfather that Sakura couldn't read. Males in general tended to think with their lower bodies, and if they acted nicely toward a girl, there was usually some ulterior motive involved. Shirou, however, only ever exhibited a pure, unconditional benevolence, wholly free of any hint of vice. Either he had so utterly mastered his _tatamae_ that the underlying _honne_ couldn't be perceived at all; or, to begin with, no _tatamae _had ever been formulated, and he was truly a saint. Sakura couldn't decide which was less likely.

Tohno Sakura was many things, but a naive innocent she was not. The cruel, unforgiving world she had known growing up had been built of pain and pleasure, power and despair; and by all rights, she should've been able to dismiss Emiya Shirou as a yet another common hypocrite, unworthy of further consideration. Instead, she'd found him oddly intriguing.

Pacing shyly in step behind him as he led her back to her homeroom, she wondered if it was a sort of infatuation that she felt. What had built up within her in the year that she had known him was definitely a sensation of need, closer to love than hatred - but she found that she held little desire to engage him in acts of tenderness, besides as a means to an end.

'No,' she decided, rubbing her thighs together as they walked. 'What I really want is to know what he's like beneath that facade. I want to see the look upon his face when his ideals comes crashing down around him, and he's forced to drop his act.'

Conscious of the growingly moist nakedness beneath her skirt, she permitted herself a small, genuine smile.

'And when his despair is complete, he won't be able to resist me anymore.'

/

It was five minutes to the hour when Emiya Shirou sat himself down in the classroom. He'd reported the three girls bullying Tohno Sakura to the disciplinary head per school regulations, but it had taken some persuasion to convince the man to handle the incident delicately. Finality was ever only a final resort, and a permanent mark on the transcript wouldn't help anyone learn from their mistakes.

At the eight o'clock bell, the class representative directed them to stand and bow, and the homeroom teacher began her announcements.

"If you all recall what I said on Friday last week, we have a new student joining our class today," she said. "Please introduce yourself, Miss Kronstadt."

A slender Caucasian girl with straight black hair entered the classroom at the teacher's prompting, and several of the more rowdy male students whistled at her. In physical beauty alone, she was indeed quite attractive, but Shirou was immediately placed on high guard. Though her odic signature wasn't prominent enough that he'd noticed anything off when she was out in the hall, at their current proximity, he could tell that there was something distinctly inhuman about her, and that she was suppressing a significant part of her strength.

Writing her name across the blackboard in a row of katakana, the girl set down her chalk and turned to face the class.

"My name is Altrouge Kronstadt," she said, smiling with calm confidence. "We'll be classmates for the remainder of the school year, and so I look forward to getting to know all of you! I trust myself to your care!"

The last part was spoken directly after meeting Shirou's gaze, and he steeled himself from giving a disproportional response even as he clapped to welcome the girl with his classmates.

When the applause finally ceased, the teacher said, "For the time being, Miss Kronstadt, we'll be seating you at the empty desk at the back of the second column. The seating arrangement will be changed in roughly two weeks, and so if you find yourself unable to read the board, I'll assign you to a closer spot then. Would that be alright?"

"Not a problem, Ms. Kishi," she replied, nodding politely. "Thank you very much."

Passing Shirou's desk on the way to her seat, she grinned at him briefly and casually dropped a folded note on his desk without breaking pace. Confirming that there wasn't any prana invested, he made certain that the teacher was looking in another direction before unfolding it.

'Your sister, Emiya Rani,' said the note in neat, well-practiced handwriting. 'If your desire is to deliver her from the War, perhaps we could collaborate. - A.B.'

Emiya Shirou narrowed his eyes.

* * *

**TIMELINE** to Snippet #8  
Note that events assigned to a given date are not necessarily listed in chronological order.

**1871** - _Resurrection of Crimson Moon_  
Death of Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg  
Fall of the House Einzbern  
**  
1891** - _1st Phantasmal Summer_  
Death of Zakariya Eltnam Merovech

**1897**  
13th Dead Apostle Ancestor vanishes in England  
TATARI succeeds the seat of the 13th

**1934** - _2nd Phantasmal Summer_  
Death of Li Shuwen

**1935**  
Death of Tohsaka Eiji

**1969** - _3rd Phantasmal Summer_

**1997** - _4th Phantasmal Summer_  
Death of Tohsaka Tokiomi  
Death of Uryuu Ryuunosuke  
Death of Tohno Kariya  
Death of Kayneth Archibald, the Lord El-Melloi  
Death of Hisau Maiya  
Death of Anthy Eltnam Titania IV  
Death of Kotomine Risei

**2007** - _5th Phantasmal Summer_

_June 13_: Altrouge Brunestud arrives in Misaki

_November 11_: Cornelius Alba arrives in Misaki  
_November 13_: **ARCHER **summoned by Fulcanelli  
_November 14_: **RIDER** summoned by Cornelius Alba  
_November 18_: **LANCER** summoned by Trhvmn Ortenrosse  
_November 29_: **ASSASSIN**summoned by Tohno Sakura

_December 5_: Tohsaka Rin visits Tohsaka Aoi in hospital  
_December 6_: **SABER** summoned by Tohsaka Rin  
Trhvmn Ortenrosse arrives in Misaki; encounters Tohsaka Aoi

* * *

**Known Masters & Servants**, 4th Phantasmal Summer

Emiya Kiritsugu / **SABER **- Jeanne d'Arc  
Uryuu Ryuunosuke / **CASTER **- Gilles de Rais  
Tohno Kariya / **ASSASSIN **- Salome  
Kotomine Kirei / **BERSERKER **- Spartacus  
Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi / **RIDER **- Iskander


	9. Prologue 09: Victor

Snippet #09: **VICTOR** / **Noon**

_It was not the King of Heroes that responded to his lament._

* * *

Though he had been born in Egypt, Mikhail Eltnam Sialim was not unfamiliar with Oriental foods. His vocation at Atlas had for the majority of his adult life entailed a rather hands-on involvement in the affairs of the Academy in the Asian region, and the opportunity to sample the local cuisines was indirectly a part of the package. To the middle-aged man, seeking out new restaurants had over the years become something of a pastime, and his efforts were occasionally rewarded with gustatory delights that he had yet to experience. Where exceptions to his enjoyment existed, however, they were notable.

The _Koushuu Ensaikan - Kazan_was one of the few Chinese-owned Sechuan restaurants in the city of Misaki. Situated in the basement of a building in the shopping arcade, it was a small, somewhat dingy eatery with sticky floors and no windows. The menu was indeed authentically Sechuan, but anyone well-versed in the province's culinary repertoire would quickly notice that it excluded all but the spiciest of dishes.

Mikhail had visited the _Kazan _only once, years ago. He'd regretted it immensely.

"Welcome to _Kazan_, de aru," said the waitress at the front - a young girl with a panda-apron and a silly, looped hairstyle. "Maru-Maru is Mister Customer's waitress, de aru. One only?"

Wincing slightly at the girl's manner of speech, Mikhail shook his head.

"Kotomine," he said, "party of two. My host should have already arrived."

"Ahh~, Father Kotomine is regular, de aru!" she exclaimed, smiling brightly. "He have reserve room, de aru! This way, please!"

Leaving the mostly deserted dining area through a side exit, she led Mikhail down a narrow, dimly lit corridor, past a number of empty banquet rooms. There weren't any visible evacuation lights, and just as he was beginning to wonder how the establishment could have possibly passed fire inspections, the diminutive waitress abruptly stopped and pushed open a nearby door. Judging by the residual prana across the doorway, there was a provisional privacy field in place.

"Father Kotomine~!" she called. "Maru-Maru is bring your guest, de aru!"

On appearance alone, the man seated at the far side of the table was unremarkable - the very image of the common Catholic missionary priest. Mikhail, however, was privy to his history, and was consequently never quite at ease in his presence. Kotomine Kirei was a combat-oriented magus and first-class executor in the employ of the church's Eighth Sacrament; a trained killer, for all the legitimacy of his priestly vows.

More significantly, he was one of the two known victors that had emerged of the previous Phantasmal Summers.

"Eltnam," the priest acknowledged, setting his spoon down beside his plate, and meeting Mikhail's eyes with his dark, hollow gaze. "Please, have a seat."

'And these would be what they call the windows of the soul,' Mikhail reminded himself, pulling a chair from the table and sitting himself down. He'd once presumed that a gaze so empty couldn't possibly be common, but personal experience in recent years seemed to dictate otherwise. Somewhere in Misaki, there was a red-headed stepchild with unnervingly similar eyes.

"Maru-Maru be taking Mister Customer's order, de aru-ka?" asked the waitress. "Or need to see menu?"

"I'll be trying some of your tea, Miss," he said. "Longjing this time, please."

Apparently somewhat disappointed that Mikhail hadn't ordered, the girl nodded and quietly excused herself from the room. Taking it as a cue to resume his meal, the priest scooped a bit of meat and tofu with his spoon and placed it into his mouth. It was hardly discernible, but as he chewed, there was a hint of enjoyment in his solemn expression.

"They season it with synthetic capsaicin, you know?" noted Mikhail. "Industrial strength."

"The most blessed of seasonings," said the priest, earnestly. "But I've always felt that discussing the food during a meal makes for poor conversation."

Mikhail sighed.

"So how was Italy?" he asked. "Your daughter is well, I hope?"

The priest wiped with a kerchief the sweat that had gathered upon his brow in spite of the air conditioning.

"As well as she can be, given her health," he said, without particular inflection. "She has taken her vows this past year, against my advice. While it isn't my place to deny her the path she considers her true calling, I have a certain doubt that the caretaker my superiors have assigned to her can be entirely trusted with her safety."

"You can never quite let go of them, even when they're grown," observed Mikhail. "This caretaker, though - would I know of him?"

"I somewhat doubt it, unless you happen to associate much with the paladins," Kotomine replied. "He's an Irishman who goes by the moniker of 'Dawn' - a high-functioning amnesiac, formerly of the Thirteenth Knightly Order. On account of his condition, he's been redesignated to a clerical assignment, but I frankly find him unfit even for that."

Gathering another spoonful of his lunch, the priest paused.

"Are you perfectly certain that you don't wish to try some of this?" he asked.

"Absolutely," snapped Mikhail, a little more forcefully than he intended.

"Pity. I have it on no less an authority than the Burial Division that the run-of-the-mill Dead Apostle finds the very scent of capsaicin unbearable."

The flat tone of voice made it difficult to tell if the priest was speaking in jest, but to Mikhail's experience, the man had the humor of a wooden plank. As he made to respond, though, he was interrupted by a knock.

"Who is it?" he asked, turning.

The door opened slightly - enough for the waitress to peek in shyly.

"Maru-Maru is Maru-Maru, de aru," said the girl, "and she have Mister Customer's Longjing tea~!"

"Ah, thank you," replied Mikhail.

The girl pushed the door open enough to make room for her tray. There was only the tea on it - still visibly steaming from the spout of a jade-green porcelain teapot. With a bit of theatrical flair, she produced a small matching cup from nowhere that Mikhail could see, and poured out the equivalent of a shot in one smooth motion.

"Maru-Maru get Mister Customer anything else, de aru-ka?" she asked hopefully, setting everything neatly upon the table.

"No, that should be it for now," said Mikhail, blinking a bit at the sleight of hand. "Thank you very much for your performance."

The girl seemed momentarily disappointed once again, but covered it with a beaming smile.

"If need anything, please call, de aru~!"

Giving a wave of the hand, the waitress exited the room, and Mikhail felt Kotomine renew the privacy field. He shook his head with a slight smile and brought the hot beverage to his lips, giving it a tentative sip. It wasn't bad. Not as bad as he'd expected, in any case - though it tasted slightly burnt. Unlike the Oolong tea he'd tried five years ago, there wasn't any detectable capsaicin.

"Where was I?" he asked.

"I believe you were about to ask me regarding the assignment I've prepared for you and your charge."

Mikhail took in another sip before setting down his cup and exhaling in resignation. From the start, he'd known that Kotomine Kirei wouldn't request his presence purely for a social call so close to the War, but being proven right about it wasn't a good feeling. It seemed that the Vatican was yet again exercising its contract with Atlas.

"Who are we up against?" he ask.

"Ortenrosse of the White Wing, who has initiated operations in western Misaki," responded the priest. "There's another unidentified vampiric presence in the northern sector of the city, but the scale of its influence is thus far negligible. Given the circumstances of the Crimson Moon's sealing, however, it isn't difficult to guess what they're probably after."

'The resurrection of their once and future queen,' Mikhail concluded. And, as in the disastrous Third War, the vampires' chosen timing strongly implied that they intended to make use of the Phantasmal Summer as an instrument to their ambition. The Servants had in the first place been conceived of as a class of multipurpose thaumaturgical weapons; and skillfully deployed, a manifested Heroic Spirit could very well double or triple the effective offensive power available to a Dead Apostle Ancestor - not including any support they received from allies or offspring.

Unfortunately, the Seventeenth Dead Apostle Ancestor - Ortenrosse of the White Wing - wasn't merely a powerful opponent. He one of the two primary political leaders amongst the Dead Apostles, and there was a small army of undead willing to answer to his beck and call. Vampires weren't particularly known for their well-developed sense of fair play.

'They're aiming to destroy the seal set upon the Crimson Moon by Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg ... this isn't good. This isn't good at all.'

"For what it's worth, you won't be going into this alone," continued the priest. "Though I'm not a recognized Master, I shall be taking part in the War as a mediator between the human participants. Additionally, I'll be coordinating the executors of the Assembly of the Eighth presently stationed within the city."

Mikhail leaned back into his chair and wiped his face with his palms. In the morning, he'd left his hotel room in a somewhat carefree mood, thinking to enjoy the calm before the storm - but apparently he'd grossly underestimated the magnitude of the oncoming hell. This wasn't something he could relax about. How the unnaturally hollow priest could just calmly sit there and eat his horrible food, Mikhail didn't know.

"What is it that you're asking of me, then?" he asked.

"In my official capacity as the leader of this task force," said Kotomine calmly, "I hereby request that the Academy at Atlas support our efforts toward the resolution of this threat. More fundamentally, I'm personally acquainted with only two of the parties involved in this War, and you happen to head one of them. I'm hoping that the Servant in the care of your charge might be of direct aid to us in combat situations."

There wasn't much of a choice. Beyond the fact that Atlas had invested far too much into the Phantasmal Summer to casually overlook its dismantlement, the resurrection of the Crimson Moon was an event that could easily spell the breakdown of the world order. There wasn't any normal human alive that could lightly risk such an outcome.

But there were definite upper limits to the combat performance that a Servant could exhibit, and Mikhail was skeptical that the addition of one or two to a fighting force would really prove to be tactically valuable in a worst-case scenario. In the face of an army of ghouls led by a Dead Apostle officership, the strength of a single Servant probably wasn't worth a lot more than a suit of cardboard armor. And if the priest truly believed otherwise, why hadn't he summoned a Servant himself? Why hadn't the Vatican arranged for one of their own to participate as a Master, per their strategy in the Fourth War?

As the victor of the previous War, was Kotomine Kirei privy to some knowledge of the Phantasmal Summer unavailable to the House Eltnam?

Mikhail's remaining drink was by now only lukewarm, and he knocked it back into his throat like a glass of liquor. Slamming the cup to the table with mild force, he poured another shot from the teapot.

"I'll agree to your request," he said, leaning forward, "but answer me this: What precisely did you learn from the Moon Cell?"

Swallowing the last of his meal, the priest laid his spoon across his plate and met Mikhail's gaze with a strange expression that fell somewhere between satisfaction and guilt, or joy and sorrow - as if considering something that he couldn't quite express. For a very long moment, the only sound in the room was the cool air blowing out of the vent above the door.

"I learned of my pride and arrogance," said Kotomine Kirei at last, folding his hands over one another. "I learned of humility."

Somewhere in those dark, empty eyes, Mikhail caught a glimpse of peace.


	10. Prologue 10: Omelas

Snippet #10: **OMELAS** / **7th December**

_To defeat the 6th Law, she would receive all the evils of the world ..._

* * *

At four in the morning, a small, brown-skinned girl stood alone beneath a street lamp in western Misaki, looking up into the pale light with bespectacled eyes.

Clearly not an East Asian, Rodriguez noted, but he doubted she was a tourist. Though she couldn't have been much older than thirteen or fourteen, the extremely deep V of her neckline exposed more of her chest than girls her age were generally comfortable with. There was a significant bit of thigh exposed above her mismatched knee-stockings, and nothing at all to indicate that she was clothed beneath her long white shirt. It was difficult to imagine that she could've chosen the outfit herself.

'Fledgling streetwalker,' concluded Rodriguez with a smile. 'The local thugs seem to have some decent connections abroad. Should go and pay them a visit sometime.'

Dropping silently from his perch above a two-story building, he paced slowly toward the light with intentionally loud footsteps. At maybe seven meters, the girl appeared to notice, and turned to look with a blank, doll-like expression.

"Out on the town for a bit of fun, miss?" asked Rodriguez.

The girl made no response, and Rodriguez approached her side, cupping her chin in his hand and lifting her face into the light. A dark bindi marked the center of her forehead, but her features weren't classically Indian - more Caucasian, despite the deep tan of her skin. Her hair and eyes were of a strange coloration - a shade of pale violet. From a distance, he'd assumed that the hair was a dye-job, but it was apparent up close that the color went straight to the roots.

'Pretty little thing,' he thought, grinning. 'Definitely exotic enough to keep as a pet. She isn't circulating enough od that her circuits would be of high quality, but at least she's got something.'

"You're lucky I'm the one who found you," he said aloud. "Tonight, I'll be taking you away from all this."

The girl moved her lips, but emitted no voice.

"What's that?" he asked.

A bit more loudly, she uttered, "Berserker."

Involuntarily, Rodriguez was lifted from the ground. Tactile sensation seemed to indicate that a tough, leathery hand had enclosed itself over his skull - but his captor possessed no discernible presence whatsoever. In the air besides the girl, he could see only an optical distortion, vaguely in the shape of a very large man.

"Y- you're a participant in the War," he said, struggling to pry himself free.

And then there were no more words.

Chunks of flesh and bone splattered across the blacktop in a spray of blood, and a male corpse with only the torn remains of a head collapsed to the ground. Unmoved by the violence, the small girl paced over and knelt carefully, dipping her right index finger into the blood that pooled near the neck. Sticking out her tongue, she wiped her finger against it. Briefly, a series of runes lit up across the surface.

"Network infiltration complete," she said, standing. "Come, Berserker."

* * *

Once the nest was located, there was no longer any purpose in suppressing her presence. Drawing opponents out was, after all, more time-efficient than hunting them all down.

At an intersection a block away from her destination, the enemies took the bait, and Emiya Rani found herself surrounded by scores of the dead - a hunting party returned from its nightly routine. The majority of the creatures weren't visibly in the advanced stages of putrefaction, hinting that the operation had indeed only begun recently.

"You've gotta be pretty arrogant, darin' to come out here without backup, girly," said a sultry voice. "Hopin' to pull off some heroic sacrifice for fame and glory?"

The speaker, who walked into view from behind a parked truck, was a muscular girl of average stature. Sporting a pageboy cut and a number of painful-looking scars across her exposed skin, she had a masculine, somewhat bestial air about her mannerisms. Rani privately judged that the girl would be difficult to associate with, even if she were human - but outwardly, she merely tilted her head.

The non-response was apparently enough to provoke the enemy into taking initiative; and without another word, the girl dashed forward, thrusting a hand at Rani's abdomen with intent to kill. Rather than plunging into soft flesh, however, the clawed fingertips stuck a solid surface in the air with a metallic clang, and momentarily the girl's expression turned to surprise. She leapt out of range and began to circle, more carefully scrutinizing Rani's defenses.

"A personal bounded field?" she muttered, more to herself than to Rani. "How'd a brat like you figure out such a fancy trick?"

"You were mistaken," said Rani. "I am not here alone."

"What?"

With Rani's pronouncement, the dead grew agitated. No longer were they merely silently blocking her escape; they had begun to cannibalize one another, tearing into their neighbors' throats with fanged mawls. Staring at the growing chaos that had been inflicted upon her minions, the girl glared at Rani.

"What did you do?" she snarled.

"I have asserted authority over the prana network formerly under the control of the vampire Rodriguez," replied Rani. "The behavioral directives of the connected harvest units have been updated. Your privileges as a coordinator are revoked."

The girl's eyes widened at the explanation, and, not for the first time, Rani saw fear. It wasn't particularly surprising. Unless one was a Dead Apostle of over five hundred years of age, bending the collective offspring of a vampire to one's will as a third party was almost unheard of. Such was the limitation of instinct. With science, more options were available.

"Yer no Magus," said the girl through grit teeth, backing away. "You're not even human. What the fuck are you?"

Rani didn't answer immediately. Disregarding the ongoing carnage amongst the dead, she calmly approached her opponent and removed her glasses.

"I am the end product of the dilemma of justice," she said, meeting the girl's eyes. "The one that shall die so that countless may live."

* * *

**BERSERKER** / **Anguli-Mala**  
master: Emiya Rani  
gender: male  
alignment: lawful evil (lawful good)

strength: C (A)  
endurance: A (A+)  
agility: D (B)  
mana: E  
luck: E

An early disciple in the ministry of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha. A ruthless serial killer, who came eventually to repent for his sins and redeem himself.

Born under cursed star to the family of a royal chaplain, Angulimala - then named Ahimsaka ('the harmless') - was foretold to possess a dark fate. In an attempt to deter him from the path of sinners, his father arranged for him to study theology at a respected seminary. However, his rapport with his instructors earned him the ire of his fellow students, and in secret, they slandered him before high priest, claiming that he had boasted of sleeping with the priest's wife.

Furious but unwilling to physically harm Angulimala, the priest announced to him that he had completed his studies. Before the priest would officially recognize his mastery, however, Angulimala was required to perform one task: He was to slay one thousand victims, and claim from each their right index finger to present as a gift to the priest. Deeply obedient and unquestioningly respectful, Angulimala journeyed from the seminary to set about his task.

The act of killing awakened something within him - an innate sadism and predisposition to violence. In part to survive, he turned to brigandry and the murder of pilgrims, and thereon descended quickly to all manner of depravity. However, within his heart, there was an ever-growing guilt that he ignored. To keep track of his progress, he strung his collection of fingers together as a necklace - the basis of his appellation, "Anguli-Mala" ('finger-garland').

In the year that Angulimala claimed his 999th victim, the royal court received series of petitions to conduct a manhunt. From the descriptions of the alleged murderer, Angulimala's mother recognized him, and took to the mountains where the murders had been perpetrated to warn him of the danger. To far addled by bloodlust to recognize his aging mother, Angulimala attempted to slay her. Siddhartha Gautama, who was by chance conducting a pilgrimage through the mountains, saw the woman's plight and intervened - positioning himself to draw away Angulimala's attention.

Angulimala turned upon Siddhartha and gave chase - but even on exerting the full of strength, he found himself unable to reach the Buddha, who paced slowly and steadily away. When he had exhausted himself entirely, and the madness receded, Siddhartha Gautama approached, and Angulimala asked of him, "By what magic was I prevented from approaching you?"

The Buddha replied, "I have done nothing. It was merely that the guilt within your heart had grown to overcome the grip of rage. Your flesh itself was resisting you."

Overcome by the weight of his sins and the things that he had denied, Angulimala lay his sword before Siddhartha and cried, begging that he be executed by his own blade before the madness came upon him again. The Buddha declined.

"The ills that you have wrought shall not end merely because you have died," he said. "If you seek truly to repent, live and overcome your difficulties, and take responsibility for the lives that you have stolen."

Angulimala came to be a disciple of Siddhartha Gautama, and dedicated his subsequent life to the practice of Buddhism. Though he was eventually able to purge himself entirely of his madness, the families and loved ones of his victims were unwilling to so easily accept his atonement. Over the years, his efforts at offering recompense were answered quite frequently with physical injury, which he endured without complaint.

Were he not to suffer retribution, the wrath and sorrow he had brought into the world would come eventually to be expressed by other means - perhaps birthing a new evil ...

skills

**Mad Enhancement**, Rank B:  
Rank increase to the attributes of Strength and Agility at the cost of the majority of the Servant's sanity and mental capabilities. Active by default upon summoning, the attribute entails a madness characterized by extreme, mechanical obedience. Due to similarity in character to Mental Pollution, the skill permits resistance against mental interference magecraft.

**Battle Continuation**, Rank A:  
Capacity of the Servant to maintain mobility and combat readiness so long as no injuries are decisively fatal. Permits withdraw from battle following defeat. May be used for defensive purposes following the activation of Bhidya-Vartana.

**Sahasra-Yaj** / **The Forest of the 999 Fingers**, Rank C:  
A personal skill reinforced by the crystallization of the Servant's legend as a serial killer. Permits the dilution of presence across an area of roughly two kilometers in diameter, within which an effect similar to Presence Concealment is attained. While the skill is active, the Servant is visible only as an optical distortion, but may perform hostile actions without revealing himself. May be used for defensive purposes following the activation of Bhidya-Vartana.

noble phantasm

**Bhidya-Vartana** / **The Sword Lain Low** - Rank EX, Anti-Noble-Phantasm:  
1-time use Noble Phantasm, which increases Endurance to a rank of A+, and grants improved self-restoration. Mad Enhancement is sealed upon activation, and the Servant forgoes all offensive capabilities. In exchange, the permanent passive effect of Bhidya-Vartana annihilates any offensive Noble Phantasm employed directly against the Servant's flesh and survived.

* * *

**Known Factions**, Snippet #10

**_House Tohno_** / **_Assassin Camp_**

_Tohno Shiki_, (age 158, male):  
Patriarch of the House Tohno; user of the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception; victor of the 2nd Phantasmal Summer. Since his victory, he has not actively pursued access of the Moon Cell, even though it is known that his end goal is to liberate the presently sealed Arcueid Brunestud from the taint of the Crimson Moon and the Grand Ritual of the Phantasmal Summer. His current plans are unspecified, but he has assigned Tohno Sakura to serve as the Master of Assassin.

_Tohno Sakura_, (age 17, female):  
Master of Assassin. Adoptive heir-apparent of the House Tohno; twin to Tohsaka Rin. Her abilities are unspecified. A two-faced young woman who furthers her own ends by engaging in carnal relationships with various men. Appears to have some interest in Emiya Shirou, though the purpose of her involvement in the Phantasmal Summer may relate more to the House Tohsaka.

_ASSASSIN -_ _Li Shuwen_, (death 1934, male):  
A modern heroic spirit, who died in Japan in 1934. Originator of the Li Family branch of Bajiquan.

_Tohno Shinji_, (age 17, male):  
A boy who claims to be best friends with Emiya Shirou; a playboy and womanizer. Known as a bully amongst the male students at his school, but he is well-liked by female students who haven't yet formally dated him. Stepbrother to Tohno Sakura. A synchronizer of significant natural talent, and an inheritor of the Pure Eyes of the defunct House of Nanaya. However, he is untrained in either ability. Presently acting as surrogate Master to Assassin?

_**House Tohsaka**_ / _**Saber Camp**_

_Tohsaka Rin_, (age 17, female):  
Present heir to the House Tohsaka; Average One. Master of Saber. Twin sister to Tohno Sakura. A talented magus who specializes in the use of Jewel Magecraft. Uncommonly clumsy with appliances of modern technology.

_SABER - Nero Claudius Caesar_, (death 68 AD, female):  
Emperor of Rome; the 666th Beast. A self-proclaimed artist who seeks love and respect. Owing to her personality, she has few friends.

_**House Eltnam**_ / _**Berserker Camp**_

_Mikhail Eltnam Sialim_, (age 54, male):  
As heir to the title of Sialim, he serves as the overseer of Atlas Academy affairs in Asia; handler and trainer to Emiya Rani. Expert in alchemical theory, but inferior in practical application due to quality of circuits.

_Emiya Rani_, (age 20, female):  
Master of Berserker. Designated as Rani Eltnam Titania VII, seventh in a series of human-homunculus hybrids created by Atlas; designed for survivability in thaumaturgical combat. Primary proficiency in Spiritual Hacking and Formalcraft Interfacing. Biological daughter to Emiya Kiritsugu and Anthy Eltnam Titania IV. Successor to the title of 'the Magus Killer,' and inheritor of the original ideology of Emiya Kiritsugu. She possesses an artificial replica of the thaumaturgical crest of the House Emiya, and an unspecified Mystic Eyes ability. A girl of vaguely mechanical personality, who appears no older than 14.

_BERSERKER - Anguli-Mala_, (male):  
A serial killer and a Buddhist saint; the murderer of the 999 fingers. In atonement, he accepted the vengeance that he deserved, and all of the evils that he had birthed into the world.

_**Ortenrosse Faction**_ / _**Lancer Camp**_

_Trhvmn Ortenrosse_, (age 4XXX, male):  
Master of Lancer; Lord of the White Wing; the 17th Dead Apostle Ancestor. One of the two most influential political leaders amongst Dead Apostles. Though he possesses no unconventional capabilities as a vampire, by sheer strength alone, he controls the greatest amount of territory. Presently seeks the resurrection of Brunestud of the Crimson Moon with use of the Phantasmal Summer.

_LANCER - Vlad III of Wallachia_, (death ?, male):  
The Lord Impaler of the Principality of Wallachia. However, upon his reported death, his corpse was never found ...

_Rodriguez of the Nine Knives_, (age 97, male):  
A Dead Apostle of minor talent in the manipulation of thralls. In his first life, he was a minor American criminal that regarded himself as a 'gentleman.'

_Borta Johansdotter_, (age 288, hermaphroditic):  
A thaumaturgically-created vampiric chimera, comprised originally of a small child and a wolf familiar. Though she possesses irregular physical strength, she lacks many features that would be typical of a Dead Apostle - such as the ability to generate thralls.

_Tohsaka Aoi_, (age 37, female):  
Wife to the late Tohsaka Tokiomi, the former heir of the House Tohsaka; mother to Tohsaka Rin and Tohno Sakura. During the 4th War, her mental faculties were damaged to trauma and physical injury inflicted by Salome, the Servant Assassin, who independently sought vengeance against the woman who had emotionally harmed her Master, Tohno Kariya. Vanished from the long-term care ward where she was hospitalized on December 6th, 2007. It is possible that she is no longer amongst the living ...

_**House Fulcanelli**_ / _**Archer Camp**_

_Fulcanelli_, (age 181, hermaphroditic):  
Master of Archer. True name unknown. Present heir to the title of the Fulcanelli; holder of a thaumaturgical crest privately succeeded within a tradition of blood-unrelated masters and students. An alchemist of the Prague School, famed for his meteoric rise within the circles of the Sea of Estray during the early 1800's. However, upon allegedly attaining the lapis philosophorum, he vanished from the academic scene. Subsequently, he was the instigator of a number of incidents wherein alchemical knowledge was released to the mundane public. For his actions, he was assigned the Sealing Designation of Philosopher.

_ARCHER - Aias of the Hyacinth_, (female):  
A heroine of the Trojan War; the bearer of the shield that came to be known as the Rho Aias. In most popular accounts, she was misconstrued as a male warrior. Also known as Ajax.

_**Sponheim Abbey**_ / _**Rider Camp**_

_Cornelius Alba_, (age 65, male):  
Master of Rider; director of the Sponheim Abbey, a member institution of the Sea of Estray. A British gentleman, and an expert in the use of thaumaturgical puppetry; rival to the presently missing Aozaki Touko. Amongst magi, he is atypically proficient in the use of mundane technology. Creator of the popular French-Japanese animation series _Pucci et Jeanne_, which fictionalizes the youth of Jeanne d'Arc.

_RIDER - The Professor_, (death 1704, sex unknown):  
A master of thaumaturgical and mundane puppetry. Details unknown.

_?_:  
A blond Caucasian girl who maintains a mundane identity as a store clerk in the shopping arcade at Misaki. Bears a strong physical resemblance to a certain Servant of the 4th Phantasmal Summer.

_**Black Princess Faction**_ / _**?**_

_Altrouge Brunestud_, (age XXX, female):  
The Black Princess of the Death Apostles; the 9th Dead Apostle Ancestor. One of the two most influential political leaders amongst Dead Apostles; opposed to the ideals of the Ortenrosse Faction. Presently residing in Misaki, Japan. Her motives are unknown. Her normal physical appearance resembles that of a 14-year-old girl.

_TATARI_, (age 563, no sex):  
Originally Zepia Eltnam Oberon, the founder of the Academy at Atlas, and former heir to the House Eltnam. For the sake of defeating Universal Program Number Six, he transfigured himself and was reborn as a living phenomenon with the aid of Altrouge Brunestud. With the disappearance and presumed death of former 13th Dead Apostle Ancestor in 1897, he succeeded the title. Presently residing in Misaki, Japan at minimal manifestation to serve as a low-profile bodyguard to the Black Princess and an observer of the 5th Phantasmal Summer.

_?_:  
Details unspecified.

_**Holy Church**_ / _**Unaffiliated**_

_Kotomine Kirei_, (age 40, male):  
Victor of the 4th War, where he served as Master of Berserker. A hollow man - possibly a sociopath. Priest of the Shinto Parish in Fuyuki, Japan; former Executor of the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament. Presently, the mediator assigned by the Vatican to oversee the 5th Phantasmal Summer, and the overseer of an anti-vampiric task force. Legal guardian to Tohsaka Rin.

_Kotomine Karen_, (age 19, female):  
Daughter to Kotomine Kirei; a nun in the service of the Burial Division. Known to be crippled, but her condition is presently unspecified. Presently in Italy.

_Mister Dawn_, (age XX, male):  
An Irishman. Nurse and caretaker to Kotomine Karen; an amnesiac. Unaware that the personal history his superiors have assigned to him is a fabrication. Formerly a member of the 13th Knightly Order of the Vatican; redesignated to a clerical position due to his condition, which arose of injuries sustained on a mission to Buckinghamshire in England. His loss of memories may have resulted from the malfunction of certain physical enhancements he received in his previous posting.

_**House Emiya**_ / _**?**_

_Emiya Kiritsugu_, (age 42, male):  
Heir to the defunct House Emiya; a former assassin known to thaumaturgical circles by his appellation as 'the Magus Killer.' Father to Emiya Rani, and stepfather to Emiya Shirou. He was the final human participant eliminated in the 4th Phantasmal Summer - defeated by Kotomine Kirei. The injuries he sustained include the loss of the majority of his circuits and the destruction of his thaumaturgical crest. Presently capable only of performing formalcraft, which he has grown to excel in. Reluctantly permitting his daughter to serve as the Eltnam Master of the 5th War, he has prepared certain countermeasures to ensure her survival.

_Emiya Shirou_, (age XX, male):  
A boy with hollow eyes. Adoptive son to Emiya Kiritsugu, who saved him from certain death upon the conclusion of the 4th War; stepbrother to Emiya Rani. Possessed of twenty-seven high quality thaumaturgical circuits, he was trained by Emiya Kiritsugu in a heretical magecraft that incorporates the use of modern weaponry. Though focused in the ideals of justice and mercy, there is a fundamental brokenness to his personality that complicates his behavior as a normal human. Prioritizes his immediate family above all else.

_?_:  
The final Servant of the 5th Phantasmal Summer. Details unspecified.


	11. Prologue 11: Second

Snippet #11: **Second **/ **2 December 2007**

_Once upon a time, there was a man who wanted to know what he could give to the world ..._

* * *

The manor of the House Tohno was a building of Occidental design constructed in the Meiji, when the family had risen to prominence with its shipping trade. There had been renovations since then, but nothing to compromise the overall style and the interior of the building. Beyond the stable in the back - which had been demolished to make space for a garage - any modernization had been directed primarily toward the update of infrastructure and utilities.

The few maids that the family kept at hand had retired hours earlier, and at midnight, the front foyer of the main building was lit only by the skylights upon the square atrium. Clad still in his black, formal kimono, the blindfolded master of household climbed carefully to the central landing of the grand staircase, and rested both hands upon the grip of his cane. Unmindful of the darkness, he tilted his chin upwards to 'examine' the painting on the wall.

It was a well-preserved portrait - oils on canvas in the Western style, commissioned of a Japanese artist who had spent his youth in Holland as an assistant in various ateliers. In the image, a smiling young woman with emerald eyes and short red hair was seated on a chair, and there stood beside her a somber, bespectacled man wearing a suit: the blindfolded patriarch in his youth.

'Predictable,' thought Tohno Shiki, permitting himself a smile of reserved amusement. 'But no-one ever claimed that a record could be capable of much creativity. We shall see how the Moon has treated him.'

* * *

As a matter of professionalism, the attack was sudden and entirely unannounced: an unseen hand delivering an open-handed strike to the small of the old man's back, targeted at the dislocation of the spine. Before the blow could connect, however, the mark had somehow _relocated_to base of the steps in an unnatural movement - drifting through his assailant's body as if immaterial.

The afterimages that momentarily trailed behind reminded Assassin of nothing so much as Duchamp's _Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2_.

"I was wondering when you would attempt this," said Tohno Shiki, "but even if you're able to blind Alaya-Shiki to your presence, you cannot escape my eyes."

Maintaining presence elimination, Assassin kicked off of the stairs and silently landed just beyond the reach of his opponent. Slowing and then abruptly accelerating to throw off a sense of pace, he directed a claw-hand at Tohno's throat. The blindfolded man was able to cleanly evade once again, but Assassin followed through with a sweeping kick - an unanticipated action that shattered the older man's cane. Managing barely to remove himself from the strike radius of Assassin's limbs, Tohno's exertion left a glaring opening in his defenses - and Assassin made instinctively to capitalize upon it.

Rapidly materializing a spear in his left hand to extend his reach, he directed a thrust at the man's unguarded abdomen - and felt the bladed tip moving through empty space. Tohno Shiki's body had inexplicably _relocated_once again, and now the edge of a knife rested against Assassin's throat. It was already too late to discorporate; the man was capable of damaging spiritual existences.

"Good effort," said Tohno. "If you had been summoned as the Servant of the Lance, that final attack might've even been successful. Unfortunately for you, the Moon Cell is incapable of faithfully expressing the full extent of your skill."

"The Moon Cell has restored me to the agility of my prime," said Assassin impassively, dropping pranic suppression. "You have aged - grown old. You shouldn't have been able to evade my attack."

The Tohno patriarch gave a slight chuckle, and withdrew the blade from the Servant's neck.

"As a record within the Moon Cell, you have become a static entity," he said, backing away. "Comparatively, I've been anything but idle. If it's revenge that you're after, I suggest that futility awaits."

But probability of victory had never entered consideration, and it wasn't out of desire for retribution that Assassin had acted. Tohno Shiki was an entirely irrational existence. The Servant had yet to be informed of the precise nature of his mistress' contract with the man, but assuming that his overall pursuits hadn't significantly diverged in the past decades, he couldn't be permitted to further influence the course of the War.

For all of her distortion, Tohno Sakura was still an innocent - not yet beyond salvage. Assassin would not permit the man standing before him to destroy her entirely.

"You have summoned forth as a Servant a man that died by your own hand, Gravekeeper," he said, glaring with cold heat. "I shall ensure that you live to regret it."

The blindfolded man only laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound.

"Truly, I expected nothing less of you, Li Shuwen," he said, sheathing his knife. "As Master of Lancer, you did very nearly win the Second War. Let's hope it goes better for you this time."

* * *

And without a doubt, he knew that Assassin wouldn't betray his expectations.

'I know this,' thought Tohno Shiki, 'because you're more similar to me than you think.'


	12. Prologue 12: Pretender

Snippet #12: **PRETENDER** / **Evening, 7th December**

* * *

Sitting on the pavement with her back to the wall, Yumizuka Satsuki stared in confusion.

The four boys who'd cornered her into the alley were now inexplicably clutching their eyes, yelling and cursing in panicked disorientation. She couldn't entirely comprehend what had happened, but before the screaming had begun, the boys' attention had been momentarily drawn from her by what had looked to be the LED flash of a camera, originating from further down the passage.

She shook herself from surprise; there would be time to blank out later, when she was safe. On the chance that the boys would soon recover, she had to be out of the alley and as far away as possible - preferably in the presence of other pedestrians. Grabbing her dropped gym bag, she scrambled toward the street at a stumbling run.

Despite the hour, the plaza at the intersection in front of the JR station was still crowded with early holiday shoppers - and for that, Satsuki was thankful. Stopping to catch her breath beside a bus stop pavilion, she pulled her flip-phone from her bag and dialed 110.

"Emergency Services," said the dispatcher when the line connected. "How may I assist you?"

* * *

Fifteen meters from the entrance of the alleyway, the backlight of a cellphone screen lit the side of Emiya Shirou's face.

"Yeah," he said. "Color gang from the East Side, I think. Hit them up with some pellets of powdered wasabi."

Glancing back at the boys at ground level, he began to ascend.

"I'm not one of your cronies, Shinji," he said, sighing. "I've told you before that I'm only helping out because our goals happen to coincide. Keep to the boundaries, or I'll have to reconsider our arrangement."

The building was only six stories tall - not particularly prominent, but with a clear vantage over the surrounding area. Walking to the side of the rooftop that overlooked the street, he leaned his arms against the railing and visually confirmed that the victim had escaped to the plaza before the rail station.

"Seriously, get someone else to take care of it," he said. "Crimes that haven't been committed yet ..."

He cut himself off abruptly, and turned toward the back of the building with widening eyes. The moment's respite he'd permitted himself had just been forcibly concluded: In the distance behind him, a strong thaumaturgical signature was lurching its way into existence - announcing itself in a manner no magus could ignore.

"Sorry," he said. "Something just came up. I'll hand you the photos tomorrow before class."

Ending the call, he pocketed his phone.

'The seventh Servant isn't even summoned yet,' he thought, glaring in the direction of the business district. 'They're already initiating hostilities?'

* * *

If her father were alive, Rin was certain that he'd rebuke her for taking the initiative to patrol the city herself.

'The place of a Magus is within the fortifications of his atelier,' he'd say. 'Scouting is a duty best left to familiars.' And in theory, he would be correct; a Servant's greatest weakness was its liege, and it was in any case a tactical idiocy to expose oneself to the enemy. Any four-year-old with experience in hide-and-go-seek could figure the same.

Tohsaka Tokiomi had put the theory to practical use during the Fourth War. It had left him dead.

It was of course a gross oversimplification to presume this to be the sole reason for her father's failure, but Rin had always been somewhat suspicious of the notion of victory-by-proxy. It bespoke an aesthetic that paraded cowardice about in the clothing of strategic caution - a disregard of the quality of process in favor of results. To a victor of a War, the Moon Cell might indeed reveal a path to the legendary Third Magic - but if one attained such knowledge entirely by the blood and sweat of another, was it truly worth it?

Rin didn't think she could forgive herself if she followed in her father's footsteps. Instead, she had pledged to forge her own course; to enter the realm of Magic through hard work and guts, even if it involved unexpected detours.

At nine forty-five in the evening on Friday, 7th December, 2007, her latest detour had landed her at a Lawson Station in the business district of downtown Misaki.

"And you indicated that the citizens of your nation refer to this as a ... er, 'Convenience Store?'" asked her Servant, eyeing the rows of drinks behind the glass doors of the refrigeration unit with a smile of well-schooled exuberance. "A standardized merchant establishment open at all hours of the night?"

"Yes," replied Rin, tiredly.

"Superb," said the Servant. "Absolutely superb! To think that in less than twenty-five generations, the civilization of men could so far exceed the imaginings of even a genius such as myself!" Grabbing a package of curry from a nearby shelf, the small blond girl excitedly shoved it before Rin's face. "Behold! Perfect uniformity, invested in the packaging of common foodstuffs! My artisans would be hard put to replicate even one!" Waving the package at the icebox, she exclaimed, "And without even the use of magecraft, these mechanical contrivances chill drink as demanded!"

"We're wasting time," Rin complained. "I wanted to locate the enemy camps before I turn in tonight."

"Nay, Praetor," said the blonde. "This is no waste. I have this day become acquainted with a hallmark of modernity heretofore unknown to me, and if by some miracle I someday return to the era of my birth, I shall endeavor to expend any resource at my disposal to install a 'Convenience Store' on every street corner! The capital shall come alive!"

Not for the first time, Rin wondered if something was terribly wrong with Saber. As far as she knew, the Moon Cell was supposed to implement a personality adjustment so that Servants didn't react so spastically when summoned to the modern world; but it seemed as if the magnitude of the blond girl's crazy had somehow circumvented the editing - or persisted despite the system's best efforts.

"C'mon," said Rin. "I'll buy you the drink that you wanted to try, but let's get out of here."

Taking a large bottle of sparkling grapefruit juice from the icebox, she proceeded to the cash register.

'Speaking of which, where's the cashier gone off to?' she wondered.

Past nine, it wasn't uncommon for the financial district in Misaki to become utterly deserted. Relative to the four other sectors of the city, the downtown was relatively free of petty crime; and so, given that traffic was virtually nonexistent, a lone staff member going off to play hooky wasn't an unforgivable security risk. It was, however, somewhat odd that they would extend their break indefinitely - and since Saber had insisted on browsing the wares some fifteen minutes earlier, the store had been left wholly unattended.

"Hello?" called Rin.

Noticing that the door to the staff room was slightly ajar, Rin set the bottle at the register and stood on her tip-toes to peek over the counter. There seemed to be something stuck in the doorway - a sneaker?

'This scent,' she thought, catching a whiff or something in the air as she walked behind the counter to push open to door.

Blood. The store clerk - a young man with a pony-tail - was lying prone in a small pool of blood, freshly deceased. Rin felt her heart begin to race as she took a step back. She hadn't detected him because there wasn't anything left to detect; any od that could've indicated his presence had been cleanly drained away.

"Saber," she said. "I think we have a problem."

* * *

"Activate it."

* * *

On high guard, they exited into the empty street.

What was happening simply didn't make any sense. Rin rather prided herself in her sensitivity to magecraft, but she hadn't detected the faintest hint that they'd been trailed across the city; much less that their scouting route had taken them directly into a thaumaturgical trap.

The fact that the storekeeper had been killed shortly before they'd set foot into the Lawson's seemed to suggest that the set-up was impromptu - but a compulsion field well-connected to the local leylines had been erected to ward from intrusion by mundanes right as she'd discovered the corpse. A bounded field of such strength simply couldn't have been devised on the fly. It was either that she and Saber had stumbled into enemy territory purely by chance, or that their arrival had been predicted or somehow orchestrated.

'Did Saber intentionally lead me here?' thought Rin, studying the blonde's wary expression.

But she couldn't permit herself to think that way. A misplaced lack of trust in the midst of an enemy encounter might lead easily to death or worse, and aside from a reluctance to name herself, the scarlet Servant hadn't given her any reason to suspect betrayal. No - their present predicament was more easily explainable if she presumed that the enemy possessed precognitive capabilities of some sort.

"Show yourself!" shouted Saber.

Not far away, a blond girl clad in a blue dress partially covered in armor stepped into view beneath the white illumination of a street lamp. Rin gave a start at her appearance - for aside from length of hair and eye color, she was almost identical in appearance to Saber. Were it not for the fact that the girl exuded nothing of the presence of a Servant, Rin might've mistaken them for the same person.

"I do hope that it isn't your intent to impersonate me," said Saber, grasping the air before her as if brandishing a weapon. Glowing fibers wove outwards from her fingers to form the blade of a crooked, scarlet longsword. "Have you a name to call your own?"

Poising in defense, the girl brought the weapon she held to her fore: A sharp, mundane halberd, bearing a flowing standard stained in fresh blood.

"I am merely a Pretender to the Throne," replied the girl calmly, "and it seems that I have been called tonight to perform the duty of regicide."

* * *

**SABER-PRETENDER** / **?**  
master: Cornelius Alba  
gender: female  
alignment: lawful good

strength: C  
endurance: E  
agility: B  
mana: E  
luck: D

A mysterious girl who bears a strong resemblance to the Saber of the 4th War. Lacking the presence of a Servant, she gives the sense of a mundane human empowered by magecraft.

skills

**Magic Resistance**, Rank D: Capacity to cancel single-action spells, and to reject the influence of foreign prana.

**Instinct**, Rank D: A sixth sense honed by experience in battle, permitting the bearer to correctly judge the hostility of an opponent. Suitable for defensive purposes only.

**Mental Interference**, Rank E: Capacity to successfully effect suggestions in humans without sufficient resistance to thaumaturgical manipulation.

**Protection of the Faith**, Rank D: A probability-based protection derived of religious faith, which asserts itself as a distortion of reality - founded in a sense of the absoluteness of one's flesh and soul. However, a high rank in this skill is often accompanied by distortion of the personality. Though the skill classifies as a sort of divine protection, it is not in fact provided by a bond with a higher power.

noble phantasms

(empty field)


End file.
